


Goodnight And Joy Be With You All

by snufflyphoenix



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Affection, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cute Kids, Developing Relationship, Family, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Survivor Guilt, This is going to be a sad one, post-series 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8017537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snufflyphoenix/pseuds/snufflyphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Of all the comrades that e'er I've had, they're sorry for my going away. And all the lovers that e'er I've had would wish me one more day to stay. But since it falls unto my lot that I should rise and you should not, I'll gently rise and softly call goodnight and joy be with you all." - The Parting Glass.</p><p> </p><p>They signed up to be musketeers wives, not musketeers widows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So the premise was [SimulatedStars](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SimulatedStars/pseuds/SimulatedStars) idea and she said I could write it, so here you go. This is going to be painful.

Constance had been supervising drills in the yard of the garrison when she heard the hooves of two horses on the cobbles behind her. She had taken over command of the cadets since D’Artagnan was away with the rest of the regiment, having been asked to join the army at the front for six weeks until their numbers were replenished again.While she hadn’t been happy at D’Artagnan having to leave, it was obvious from Aramis’ missive with the order he also wasn’t pleased but that this was the best course of action they had available to them. A recent attack had left their numbers severely diminished and they needed all the skilled reinforcements they could get, so they had sent the musketeers. 

This left Constance to command the cadets on her own, a job she was perfectly qualified for and a role she sunk back into naturally, but the thought of D’Artagnan being at war again made her deeply uneasy and this time she didn’t have Treville to support her. Of course, she now had Elodie who was quickly becoming a firm friend, and Aramis and Anne to an extent but they were both so often preoccupied with affairs of state, it was hard to know who to go to. She and Aramis made sure to have tea once a week, but more and more recently he was having to cut their chat short when an important memo came in that he had to attend to. She understood - he was the First Minister of France now, but nonetheless she missed her friend and she knew that he missed her too, and hated being unable to often talk freely with her without interruptions. 

She turned away from the drills to see Porthos dismounting his horse, a wide smile spreading across her face. This wasn’t the first time he had visited since his deployment but it was always a pleasant surprise when he did. She often wondered how he fared out there, largely alone save for occasional letters from his loved ones in Paris. She imagined it would have been different when it was him, D’Artagnan and Athos out there - at least they would have each other to lean on when things got too much but the thought of Porthos being lonely was an awful one. 

She then looked to the second rider, who was dismounting, and her smile only grew to see Sylvie with baby Raoul. How he had grown since she and D’Artagnan had last visited Athos’ estate in Blois when he was first born, and how she had missed Sylvie since then. They had written to each other regularly but letters were never the same as seeing someone face to face, and it had been several weeks since her last letter. She and Sylvie had become close friends since they had been introduced, their shared urge to help people in need and fond, and sometimes not so fond, exasperation at their respective partners bringing them closer still. 

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Constance said warmly, setting her sword aside to cross the courtyard and meet them. As she drew closer, however, she started to sense something wasn’t quite right. Porthos hadn’t looked up at the sound of her voice, and had chosen to stable his horse himself rather than pass it to a stablehand to be looked after, and Sylvie’s face was drawn as she met Constance’s eyes.

“Constance..” Sylvie started to speak, her voice shaking slightly. She looked away from Constance to Raoul and adjusted the blankets around him, seeming on edge and unsure of herself. 

Constance frowned slightly at her friend in concern, and placed a hand on her arm to try and comfort her, although she wasn’t sure what she was comforting her about. This was very unlike her. Usually Sylvie was happy to see her, full of stories that she had saved up to tell Constance since the last time they had written, but this version of Sylvie was new to her. This version of Sylvie looked like she hadn’t slept in a week and this, in combination with Porthos’ silence, made her very uneasy. “Are you okay? Did something happen on the road?” She looked over to Porthos who had paused in unbridling his horse to take a deep breath, his eyes closed. “Porthos?”

It was at this point she realised there had been no third horse; that Athos wasn’t with them.

“Sylvie, where’s Athos?” Constance asked hesitantly, trying to calm her nerves. She had subconsciously expected Athos to be with them - he had made every effort to assist Sylvie both pre and post pregnancy, and if Sylvie’s letters were to be believed he loathed to leave her and his son’s sides. Seeing her without him at the end of such a long journey set a thousand alarm bells off in Constance’s head, although all logic told her that there was no need to worry. Sylvie could go on journeys on her own, she’d managed perfectly well before she had met Athos and Athos could well be busy back at the estate. Her insistent stress about D’Artagnan’s safety was no doubt making her assume the worst, and she looked to Sylvie for reassurance.

Sylvie looked at Constance again, swallowing hard as she tried to find words. “He’s not here.” She spoke carefully, trying to control the shake of her voice. “He’s..” The tears she had been trying to hold back since she had arrived at the garrison threatened to overflow and she exhaled slowly, closing her eyes briefly as tears rolled down her face.

Constance’s heart stopped briefly and she wrapped an arm around Sylvie. She looked to Porthos, her tone alarmed as she spoke. “Porthos?”

Porthos hung the bridle up on a hook before glancing at the cadets, many of whom had stopped to not so subtly listen in to the conversation. “Back to your drills. We can’t send you to the front with swordwork like that.” He told them sternly, before looking over to Constance and Sylvie. “Constance, your office might be a better place to have this conversation.” 

Porthos’ perfectly neutral tone did nothing to soothe her. Constance nodded slightly and led them up the stairs to D’Artagnan’s office that had become hers in his absence, holding the door for them both to let them in. She bolted it behind them and turned back to them. Porthos had sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk, but Sylvie remained standing, having gone to stand by the window. 

“What’s happened? Porthos, what’s happened to him?” Constance asked, looking from Sylvie to Porthos and back, unable to stand the silence. 

Porthos drew a hand across his face and exhaled shakily as he shook his head. “Athos decided to join us at the front. He hadn’t fought in a while, he’d been at Blois with Sylvie and Raoul, and I told him to stay at the back. I didn’t realise he’d joined the rest of the regiment until it was too late and they.. They were all slaughtered.” 

The breath was taken out of Constance’s lungs and she pressed her hand to her mouth, shaking her head slightly as if denying it would make it untrue. Tears spilled unbidden down her cheeks and she turned to look at Sylvie. “But.. I thought Athos had retired to be with you and Raoul?” 

“He had.” Sylvie said, her eyes red rimmed as she looked over to Constance. “When the musketeers passed through Blois on the way to the front, D’Artagnan stopped in and told us the news. … Athos followed him.” 

D’Artagnan. In her worry about her friend, she hadn’t properly registered Porthos’ words. The whole regiment: slaughtered. D’Artagnan had stopped at Blois on the way to the front, he’d been the one to tell Athos they were going and had taken him with them. Six weeks on the battlefield, he’d said, no more. Just six weeks, and then he would return. He’d promised her. Constance looked to Porthos, her eyes begging him to contradict her. “D’Artagnan. What about D’Artagnan?”

Porthos opened his mouth slightly to speak before closing it again, looking down at his hands that were clasped in his lap. His silence was confirmation enough for Constance, and she pressed her hands to her face. 

The world seemed to spin as she lowered herself into the second chair, her whole body shaking. She was vaguely aware of larger hands taking hers and she clung to them tightly, pressing her forehead against Porthos’ shoulder. Everything felt vague and foggy, except the unbearable ache she felt deep in her chest. She had dreaded this day as long as she had known D’Artagnan, she had rejected his advances on the grounds that he was a soldier and could easily leave her against his will, but somehow over the last year or so since he had returned from war she had allowed herself to become comfortable in the knowledge that her D’Artagnan would always come back to her. How many times had she been convinced he wouldn’t return and he had? After so long she had begun to trust that for once in her life providence was on her side, that by some force of nature that her husband would always return. Only now it seemed that God had abandoned her, had abandoned D’Artagnan and Athos, and the rest of the regiment, and was determined to punish them for who knew what. 

“I had to come in person.” Porthos said quietly, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. “I couldn’t.. I couldn’t put this in a letter.” Constance shook her head against Porthos’ shoulder, unable to stop herself from tremoring. 

Her head jerked up at the sound of a sob from by the window, and she turned slightly to see Sylvie burying her face in Raoul’s blankets as she held her son to her chest. Raoul, who had been asleep up until this point, made a loud disgruntled sound at being woken, and she shushed him as soothingly as she could with tears running down her face.

“Ssh, love, mama’s here.” Sylvie murmured, wiping her eyes on her shoulder before pressing a kiss to her baby’s forehead. “Mama’s here..”

Porthos released one of Constance’s hands, offering it to Sylvie for comfort. Her returning smile at the gesture was small and pained but she moved closer, sitting on the edge of the desk as she continued to soothe Raoul. Porthos wiped away his own tears and sniffed loudly, obviously trying to hold it together for the pair of them but even through her haze, Constance knew acutely that Porthos was suffering as much as they. She had seen the risks he had taken in the past to ensure his brothers’ safety; she had seen his anguish when Aramis had been arrested for treason, she had seen him look after Athos when he had had one too many, she had seen him grow so proud of D’Artagnan and all he had learnt as he proved himself worthy to be a musketeer in the tournament all those years ago. She knew how deeply he loved and cared for them, and knew his agony must match hers and Sylvie’s. 

Constance squeezed his hand tightly then relaxed her grip, trying to control her breathing before she began to hyperventilate. The last thing any of them needed was for her to faint. She took a deep breath and she tried to steady herself as a dull weight seemed to settle in her chest alongside the ache. “I don’t want to believe it.” She said in a small voice after some time, her hands still shaking. It was a rare occasion for Constance to feel helpless, but in this moment she felt as if the floor had been pulled from underneath her. 

“I keep thinking this is a nightmare, and that I’ll wake up soon.” Porthos ran his hand across his face, exhaling deeply as he did so. More tears fell and he shook his head. “When we went out the first time, I had a recurring nightmare that we’d be in the middle of the fray and I would see them cut down and that there would be nothing I could do about it except watch but..” His voice shook now. “It never went on this long. I always woke up.” 

Sylvie shuddered at the image conjured up by his words, and Constance’s face gained a greyish tone. The thought made her feel ill and she closed her eyes.

“I keep expecting him to walk in the door.” 

Constance looked up at the sound of Sylvie’s voice. She was watching Raoul as she soothed him back to sleep, running the back of her finger gently over his cheek. “I keep expecting to hear his boots on the floorboards, and the swish of his shirt sleeves brushing his sides as he walks. Or to come in from the market and find him scrubbing down the flagstone floor of the pantry, because he’s been meaning to do it since we moved in but we were always so busy he never got round to it, and… Christ, I miss him.” She finished, moving Raoul’s blankets closer around him as her tears fell. 

Constance stood, moving to put her arms around Sylvie and pull her close. This was too much, it was all too much. Everything was overwhelming and Sylvie buried her face in Constance’s shoulder, who held her tight while being mindful of Raoul. Constance rubbed her back slowly, starting to cry herself as Sylvie’s tears hit her shoulder. This wasn’t fair. Sylvie and Athos had just been in the beginnings of building their life together and it had been ripped apart. Athos would never see his son grow up, and Sylvie would be raising their child alone. In that moment, Constance swore to herself that she would not let that happen - that she would be there to support Sylvie and help with Raoul, as long as Sylvie would let her. They had both lost the men they loved, but Sylvie had also lost the father of her child. In the midst of her grief, she could only imagine how Sylvie must be feeling. 

The sound of a chair scraping the floor drew her attention and she looked towards the sound. Porthos wiped his eyes and sniffed, exhaling deeply as he stood. “I should go and tell Elodie what’s happened.” He said quietly, looking at the two of them. “Will you be okay?”

“Will you?” 

Porthos smiled weakly at Sylvie, who had looked up to ask. He didn’t say anything. To lie and say he would be fine was so blatantly a lie it wasn’t worth telling, and Constance knew he knew it would not fool either woman. However, she knew he would not admit that he was falling apart inside while he still had calls to pay. That would have to wait. He must be anxious to see his wife and daughter after everything that had happened, to remind him what he was fighting for and why his friends had sacrificed themselves. “I’ll come back later.”

With a brief kiss on each of their cheeks, Porthos took his leave and then it was just Sylvie, Raoul and Constance. 

Constance gave Sylvie’s waist a light squeeze, moving slightly to sit on the desk too. She didn’t know what to say. Sitting in what had been D’Artagnan’s, and previously Athos’ office, their absence felt amplified somehow. It was as though being in a room that they had both spent so much time during their lives in made the feeling of loss threaten to overwhelm her and she stood again, unsure of what to do with herself. 

“Shall we go to my rooms?” She offered, looking at Sylvie. She couldn’t stay in this room anymore. “We can sort out a bed for you both.”

Sylvie nodded, the rims of her eyes red. She swallowed, smiling slightly at Constance. “I don’t want to be in this office much longer.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Constance concurred, heading for the door before catching sight of herself in a small looking glass that hung on the wall. She looked a mess. Her face was somewhat swollen from her crying, her hair had started to come undone from where she had pressed her face into Porthos’ doublet and her skin had a slightly grey hue to it. “What the cadets will think if they see me in this state..”

“You’ve lost your husband.” Sylvie said, standing to follow her. “They’ll understand. And if they give you trouble, put them on stable duty.” She added, her smile returning briefly. 

Constance laughed shakily as she attempted to pin her hair back into place. She took a deep breath before she opened the door, stepping out onto the walkway. She and Sylvie made their way down the steps into the yard, aware the cadets had stopped practicing again.

“Madame D’Artagnan,” One of the cadets spoke up cautiously and she turned to look at him, “Is what General Du Vallon said true? About the captain?” 

She had known there would be questions. They were a bright bunch, unlikely to miss the significance of the general’s impromptu visit and the sombre air that seemed to fill the garrison. She had hoped they might wait a while, let her collect herself somewhat before asking, but they were young and tact was a skill many of them had yet to learn. Much like her D’Artagnan when he has first arrived in Paris, she thought. 

She nodded in response to the question and took a moment before speaking. “The whole regiment.”

“Even Brujon?” 

“We have to assume so.” She watched as their faces fell. They had obviously been hoping that Porthos had lied to them, that everything was fine and that their friends and captain would be returning in three weeks as promised. For many of them, this would be the first of many losses they would suffer as soldiers and she hated to be the one to confirm this for them. “Take the rest of the day to yourselves. I.. We need time. Don’t do anything hasty.” She said quietly, walking with Sylvie across to her rooms. 

Sylvie stepped inside and Constance followed, closing the door behind her. 

“I can make up a bed for Raoul? Give your arms a rest?” Constance suggested, taking her coat off and hanging it over the back of a chair. Anything she could do to keep Sylvie and Raoul comfortable, and keep herself occupied so her mind wouldn’t quieten to the point of only being able to think of D’Artagnan’s body on a battlefield-- No. She refused to let herself think about it. 

Sylvie smiled slightly, nodding. “That would be perfect, thank you. Is there anything I can do?”

“No, no, sit down. You’ve had a long journey.” Constance insisted, and she removed some laundry from the other chair so Sylvie had room to sit. She was aware that her rooms were a bit of a state currently, but she had been so busy since D’Artagnan’s departure that keeping her personal life in order had sort of gone out the window. With the recent news, she felt sure it was only going to get worse from here. She began to busy herself with building a bed for Raoul, taking a large basket she would bring when buying fabric and lining it with blankets for him to be comfortable. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do for now. She made a mental note to ask Elodie if she had anything more suitable Marie-Cessette had grown out of when she next saw her and placed the makeshift bassinet on the table, making sure it wasn’t going to rock over. 

Sylvie settled Raoul in the basket, making sure he wasn’t about to wake up again at being put down, before sitting down heavily in the chair Constance had cleared. She slumped against the back of the chair and ran a hand over her face before looking over at her friend. “I’m exhausted.” She stifled a yawn and leant on the arm of the chair.

“How many days were you travelling for?” Constance asked, moving to the cupboard to take out some bread, cheese and fruit, and put it on plates. While the thought of eating turned her stomach at present, she knew she should eat and that Sylvie would likely be hungry after such a long journey.

“Six days,” Sylvie replied, thanking Constance as she was passed a plate of food. “No more than twenty miles a day - Porthos didn’t want to tire Raoul out too much - but a trek that far, it certainly gives you time to think.” She started to eat, slowly as though deep in thought.

Constance didn’t say anything, taking a small bite of apple. She could barely taste it, too distracted by her own thoughts. Six days. If Porthos had been riding flat out to Blois since he had seen their deaths, it would have taken him a minimum of ten days to arrive there, and then a further six days meant D’Artagnan had been dead for more than two weeks and she hadn’t known. They had only been at the battlefield a couple of days. 

“I don’t know what to do, Constance.” 

Sylvie’s voice drew her back to the present and she looked over, her brow furrowing in concern. “You don’t have to do anything.” She said, setting her apple back down to reach for Sylvie’s hand. 

Sylvie took her hand, shaking her head slightly. “I do. I can’t go back to Blois, to the estate. It would feel too odd, to be there and for him not to be.”

“It’s your home.”

“It was our home,” She emphasised, looking down at her plate. “The house was always too big for just the three of us, but we had plans for the house and for our family so it never felt empty. We went there to build our family, but now a third of our family is missing and I’m not sure I can look at the house the same way.” 

“You should stay in Paris, then,” Constance squeezed Sylvie’s hand lightly. “You can stay with me for as long as you need, and I’m sure Aramis would be more than happy to help you find rooms if you don’t want to stay here, and-- Oh, God. Aramis.” Her face fell and she looked at Sylvie with wide eyes. 

Did he know? This would destroy him, she was sure of it. To Aramis, the safety and happiness of his friends was paramount and so many times she had seen him put himself in the line of fire, in the hope it would mean his friends were unharmed. The image of Porthos and Aramis standing alone without Athos and D’Artagnan made her deeply uneasy, and left her feeling slightly sick to her stomach. The four of them had been such a tight knit group for so many years, the thought of that group being splintered permanently was a difficult one to face and one that would no doubt be harder for Aramis, who had always loved the other three so deeply. Now it was just him and Porthos, only two of the four who had been known as inseparable.

“Porthos is going to tell him later. He wanted to see Elodie and Marie-Cessette first.” Sylvie told her, rubbing her thumb over the back of Constance’s hand. She paused briefly. “He’s struggling. There hasn’t been a night since he told me when he hasn’t cried.”

“They were all so close.” Constance closed her eyes briefly. It was so hard to think of them being separated, especially like this with no chance of reunion. She took a deep breath before resuming what she had been saying before her realisation. “You’re more than welcome to stay for as long as you want.”

Sylvie nodded, smiling slightly. “Thank you. Just until I’m back on my feet.”

“There’s no time limit. Besides, I.. I would appreciate the company. I don’t want to be alone right now.” Constance admitted, looking down at their joined hands. 

“Then I won’t go anywhere.” Sylvie nodded towards Constance’s place. “You should eat.” 

Constance looked at her plate herself, letting go of Sylvie’s hand to pick up her apple again. “I’m not hungry.” She had been ravenous earlier, looking forward to the end of drills to come back and have dinner, but now she couldn’t bring herself to eat. 

“It’s the shock. You’ll be hungry later.” Sylvie pressed gently, resuming eating her own food.

“So I’ll eat later.” Constance snapped, instantly regretting her tone. Shaking her head, she spoke. “I’m sorry, I just really can’t face it right now.”

Sylvie nodded slowly, having been taken aback by Constance’s sudden outburst. “I understand. Porthos spent most of Monday trying to convince me to eat something, but by the evening I felt awful. I was upset, angry and also hungry. It’s not a good combination for clear thinking.”

Constance nodded absently, setting her apple down on her plate as she moved to the sideboard to put it down. She was at a loose end and dithered about the room, unsure whether to sit or stand, or where to do either. Eventually she settled for getting out her embroidery and sat back down in the chair, focussing on her needlework while Sylvie ate. Maybe if she had something to distract her hands with she would feel more grounded.

A while later, a knock at the door drew her out of her embroidery and she frowned. She wasn’t really in any fit state to receive unexpected guests but she went to the door anyway, setting her embroidery hoop on the table as she went. Opening it, she breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Porthos with Marie-Cessette in his arms and Elodie with a covered basket on her arm.

“Thank goodness, I’d forgotten you were coming back. I thought you might have been cadets.” She smiled weakly at them, stepping back to let them in. “I can’t cope with another crisis tonight.”

“I’ll bet.” Elodie said sympathetically, setting her basket down before she drew Constance into a tight hug. “How are you?”

“As well as can be expected, I suppose.” Constance returned the hug before pulling away, fighting to not let her voice wobble at the show of affection. 

“She’s not eating.” Sylvie pointed out as she stood before being engulfed in one of Elodie’s hugs herself, unable to help her small smile. Porthos sat down in one of the recently vacated chairs, Marie-Cessette in his lap. She cuddled up to him, and he wrapped his arms around her. 

“That won’t do. And you, how are you doing?” Elodie asked, releasing Sylvie with a concerned look up at her. 

“Surviving.” Sylvie said honestly, letting her arms fall by her sides. “It’s… it’s tough. And with Raoul, it’s a juggling act. Porthos was wonderfully helpful while we were travelling, when I needed a moment. You’re a lucky lady.”

“I know.” Elodie said, warmth in her voice as she looked to her husband and daughter. There was obvious sadness in her eyes when she turned back. “You only need to shout, okay? If you ever need anything, you know where to find me. You too.” She added to Constance, smiling reassuringly at her. “We all need to support each other.”

“Thank you.” Constance smiled slightly in response. “Sylvie and Raoul are staying with me for a while, so she won’t have to shout quite so loudly.”

“Perfect.” Porthos said, rubbing Marie-Cessette’s back gently. It seemed to soothe him as much as it did her, the reminder he still has people who love him represented in his adoptive daughter. “No one should be alone right now.”

“I agree.” Elodie nodded, picking up her basket again as she moved over to the fireplace and started laying it. “I brought the food I was going to make dinner with, I hope you don’t mind if I cook?”

“Not at all,” Constance shook her head, going to help her before being shooed away. 

“I can do it, don’t worry about hosting. Sit down, and let me take care of all of you.” Elodie said in her no-nonsense way, lighting the fire before starting to chop the parsnips she had brought with her. 

Sylvie shook her head slightly with a wry smile to Constance in a resigned ‘What can you do?’ sort of way. Constance smiled weakly in response and sat on the edge of the table, leaving the chair for Sylvie. Porthos, noticing Marie-Cessette was starting to doze off, looked to Constance.

“Can I lie her down somewhere?” He asked, glancing through to the adjoining bedroom. “I really ought to head to the palace before it gets too late.” 

Constance nodded slightly, gesturing through. “You can set her down on the bed.” A brief pause. “Are you going to tell Aramis on your own?”

“I had assumed so, yes.” Porthos said slowly, standing up with his daughter in arms. “He’s likely to be very.. I should be the one to tell him.”

“Of course.” Constance agreed, knowing Aramis would want to hear this news from Porthos directly. She knew she appreciated being told in person, rather than having been sent a letter, however awful the news. 

Porthos waited for her to continue for a moment, having a fair suspicion of where her question was leading. At her silence, he went through to the bedroom to settle Marie-Cessette down. When he came back through, he paused in the doorway. “You’re both welcome to come with me. Providing Elodie doesn’t mind watching the children?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” Elodie waved a hand at him, smiling fondly. “I managed just fine with one set of eyes while you were away, I can manage again for an hour or so.” 

Sylvie hesitated slightly, obviously torn. “I’m not sure I should leave Raoul, he’s only little.”

“Sylvie, I promise you he’ll be fine. I’ll look after him, and he’ll be right here when you get back.” Elodie reassured her, dropping the parsnips into the pot above the fire before starting work on the turnips. 

“But if he wakes up?” She frowned, looking over at her sleeping son. 

“Then I’ll comfort him.” Elodie said surely, looking at her friend. “You don’t have to go with them, but I’m sure Aramis will be pleased to see you and would want you to be there.”

Sylvie took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay,” She agreed, going over the Raoul’s basket to drop a kiss on his forehead before meeting Constance and Porthos by the door. 

“Ready?” Porthos checked, and on receiving affirmative nods he opened the door out into the garrison and stepped out.

Shutting the door behind her and Sylvie, Constance followed him as he started the walk to the palace. She was dreading this, but simultaneously she knew that she had to be there. She had to be there to support Aramis, their dear sweet Aramis who had lost too many loved ones already for any man's lifetime, and who would be there for any of them in a heartbeat should the situation demand it. This is going to be awful but that’s why she was going. They had to go through this together if they had any chance of making it through this at all. 

All for one, she thought bitterly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis hears the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean you can guess from the summary that this one may hurt a bit.

The walk to the palace was a quiet one. 

No one spoke, the only sounds coming from them Porthos’ sword belt jangling and their footsteps echoing on the cobbles as they walked the streets. Occasionally they would pass a tavern and there would be a burst of noise as a door was opened. Happy revellers would come out, stumbling past them arm in arm. It was in such stark contrast to their own moods, it jarred Sylvie somewhat. It felt as if everyone in Paris should be mourning their loss and yet Paris didn’t care. Paris didn’t care that two of it’s most loyal servants had been cut down in the line of the duty, it kept on going in it’s way that almost felt indecent given the circumstances. 

Once outside of Aramis’ apartments, Porthos paused. He seemed to consider the door carefully, and Sylvie frowned slightly. Was he having second thoughts about this? She knew he had been hesitant about how to tell Constance, and could only assume the same had been true when he came to Blois to tell her. He had voiced considering writing a letter for Constance, unsure once they had started on the road if he could look at her when he told her the news. Suffering as he was himself, telling Sylvie had been awful and he had anticipated that telling Constance would be no easier. To tell Aramis was his duty, both as general and brother, but that didn’t make the weight of this burden easier to bear.

“This isn’t going to get easier by waiting.” She pointed out gently, reaching out to place a hand on Porthos’ back.

“I know.” He responded, glancing at her before back to the door. “But the longer I wait, the more time he has believing they’re alive. I don’t want to take that away from him.”

“Porthos,” Constance spoke up and her brow furrowed, “Sylvie’s right. No matter how long we wait, it doesn’t change anything. They’re still.. He has to know. It would be unfair to not tell him.”

“I know.” Porthos repeats, his tone insistent and unhappy. He takes a deep breath and as he exhales, he knocks on the door three times.

From inside they heard a thump and then some swearing, the sound of bare feet on the floor muffled by carpet in places and the loud shuffling of fabric. Porthos and Constance shared a look between them that Sylvie didn’t quite understand the significance of, and stepped back as the door opened slightly and a thoroughly disheveled looking Aramis peered through, already talking in an irritated tone.

“I said I was retiring to read over the new proposed terms of trade with Sweden, I specifically asked that I should not be disturbed unless it was an absolute emergency, so this had better be-- Porthos!” Aramis’ face lit up in delight, halting his tirade as he realised who had knocked. He moved to embrace him, beaming as he held him close. “My friend, I wasn’t expecting you, forgive me. You should have sent word.” 

“There was no time.” Porthos apologised, closing his eyes as he returned Aramis’ hug. Sylvie could see clearly he was trying hard to not fall apart, not yet. Aramis was so happy to see them, she knew he would try to hold on to that for as long as possible.

“And Constance!” Aramis smiled warmly, moving from Porthos to Constance to hug her too, squeezing her briefly before turning to Sylvie to press a fond kiss to her cheek. “Sylvie, how are you? We have quite the gathering here, what’s the occasion?” 

“I have some news.” Porthos said slowly, carefully avoiding Aramis’ eyes. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Aramis, who frowned deeply. 

“It must be serious. What’s going on?” He questioned, looking between the three of them, a note of anxiety in his voice.

“We probably shouldn’t have this conversation out here.” Constance spoke up, glancing at Porthos who seemed to be having a harder and harder time holding himself together. “Shall we go in?”

Aramis hesitated, glancing back into the room. He seemed to pause for a moment before turning back to his friends, nodding with a slight smile. “Yes, please, come in.” 

He ushered his friends inside and shut the door behind them. He turned back to them, his concern clearly visible on his face. “Can I get you anything? Wine? Have you eaten? I’m sure I can go to the kitchens and put something together for you, if you’d like.”

“Elodie is making dinner back at the garrison, we wouldn’t want to spoil our appetites.” Sylvie smiled slightly at her friend. “Stop flapping.” 

Aramis smiled ruefully at her and gestured to the couch and chairs by the fireplace. “Please.” He invited, going to sit down himself. 

“I would rather stand, if that’s okay.” Porthos said quietly. 

A deep line appeared between Aramis’ brows. “Of course that’s okay. Are you alright?”

Porthos didn’t say anything, looking into the fire as he seemed to steel himself. This did nothing to assuage Aramis’ worries. If anything, it made them worse. He slowly made his way back over to him, frown still in place.

“Porthos?”

“Athos and D’Artagnan are dead.” 

Time seemed to stand still as Aramis stared at him. 

He shook his head slightly. “What?”

“Please don’t make me say it again.” Porthos’ voice shook ever so slightly, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed. 

Aramis continued to shake his head, a look of horrified disbelief making its way across his face. “No. They can’t- Constance?” He looked desperately at her, his eyes begging her to tell him otherwise.

Constance just looked at him and shook her head, swallowing hard. “Aramis-”

“No.” He snapped. He turned now to Sylvie and implored her. “Sylvie, please.” 

She could see his distress, could hear it in his voice and how she wished she could tell him it wasn’t true. That this was all some enormous, cruel prank and that his brothers were in fact alive and well. She couldn’t blame him; she had been waiting for someone to reveal said prank to her for a week now. She hated being his last chance at hope.

Sylvie glanced over to Constance and reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly as she saw her lower her head to attempt to hide her tears. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened to overflow again, unsuccessful as a few rogue tears rolled down her face. “I’m sorry, Aramis.”

Aramis looked as if all the air had been taken from his lungs. He sat down slowly, staring into the middle distance. No one said anything. A few moments passed before he spoke again, his voice impossibly quiet. “How?”

“We weren’t prepared. We hadn’t expected the attack until morning, we thought they’d be mad to charge in half light.” Porthos frowned deeply. His voice shook worse now. “They caught us off guard. The musketeers were the most forward camp - they fought as best they could, but they were overwhelmed. Reinforcements managed to stop the opposition making any further progress but-”

“How many dead?”

“Their regiment was entirely incapacitated.”

“No, of our men.”

“Twenty.”

Aramis shivered violently, causing Sylvie to look to Porthos in alarm. “Porthos, what-” She began to ask but was cut off by Porthos shaking his head as he sat down next to Aramis and took his hand.

“Twenty dead musketeers.” Aramis said, his breathing quick and uneven as he leant in to Porthos.

“I know.” Porthos closed his eyes, wrapping his arm around Aramis’ shoulders as he began to hyperventilate. He held him tight to his side, but still Sylvie could see Aramis shaking.

“And Athos and D’Artagnan?” He asked between breaths, still not looking at any of them.

“Included in that number.”

“But wasn’t Athos supposed to be with Sylvie?” 

“He followed them to the front.” She responded quietly, “I don’t suppose he ever got fully used to the idea of being retired.” 

Aramis nodded slightly. There was a long period where the only sound was sparks occasionally popping in the fireplace, and the sound of Aramis’ breathing slowly levelling out to a normal level again. Porthos kept a tight hold of him, every now and then rubbing his arm to try and comfort him. He was focussed on Aramis, pausing occasionally to wipe away his own tears. Sylvie knew that Porthos had been dreading telling Aramis the most, and was now able to let himself to just let go and wallow in his misery for a while. He didn’t have to be strong now. He had returned to Paris carrying this emotional burden and now he had informed everyone he had needed to of his friends deaths, he could begin to mourn properly. 

“Plans.” 

Porthos looked at Aramis, sniffing slightly as he frowned. “Sorry?”

“Plans, we need to make plans.” Aramis repeated, extricating himself from Porthos’ arms to go over to his desk. He shuffled through the mess on it for something to write on and opened a pot of ink as Porthos’ frown grew deeper.

“No, I understood.” Porthos said slowly, watching Aramis’ carefully controlled movements to hide how much he was still shaking. “I was confused as to why.” 

“We have decisions to make. Strategic ones with regards to the military, now we’re down another regiment, and then of course there are funeral arrangements to attend to.” Aramis listed, rummaging around for a pen to write with. 

Sylvie looked to Porthos, and was relieved to see that Aramis’ suddenly professional tone of voice was unnerving more than just her. Porthos wiped his eyes, shaking his head slightly. “Strategic? Aramis, they’re only just dead. Can’t we wait a bit? I can’t look at maps of the battlefield right now.”

“Given how long it takes to the front, and the fact you took a detour to Blois to tell Sylvie, they’ll have been dead at least two weeks. That’s two weeks of even more depleted ranks. We need to make decisions, and quickly. I’ll gather the council in the morning, and we can formally discuss it then, but we should go in with a solid idea to present to them.” Aramis sat down and dipped his pen in the ink to begin to write. 

“Stop. I can’t talk with the council in the morning.” Porthos shook his head, looking at Aramis as if he were mad. “I need time.”

“We don’t have time.” Aramis said sharply. “We’re fighting a war.”

“I’m aware of that,” Porthos shot back, his tone of voice tired. “but please don’t make me be the general right now. Our best friends are dead.”

“And I’m aware of that, but this is the world we live in. If we don’t plan, the remainder of our forces will be dead by the time you return. It was poor planning that lead the this in the first place.” Aramis’ words were harsh and was very carefully not looking at Porthos, who looked more and more concerned with every word.

“I know you’re upset-”

“I’m not upset, I’m being practical. If the attack had been anticipated, Constance would still have a husband, Sylvie would still have her partner and Raoul would still have a father.” Aramis’ tone was level and he clenched and unclenched his jaw as he looked at the paper before him. “So I’m afraid I need you to be General du Vallon for a touch longer to avoid making any more widows out of wives and to avoid any more children losing their fathers.” 

Porthos shook his head as he stood. “And I need you to be Aramis, not First Minister d’Herblay but I suppose we can’t always get what we want.” His voice was low and gravelly and he turned, walking out without a backwards look.

Constance watched Porthos go with a frustrated look on her face and she turned back to Aramis. “What was that about? Don’t drag me into your arguments to bolster your point.” She frowned.

“My apologies, but it’s true and Porthos is neglecting his duty because-” Aramis started but was cut off by Constance.

“Because he’s upset, and he’s grieving, and so are you. Give yourself a break and try to rest.” She frowned deeply at him. “You won’t make any sensible decisions in this state anyway.” She looked to Sylvie and gave her hand a quick squeeze, unlinking their fingers. “I’m going after Porthos. I’ll see you back at the garrison. You - stop working.” She pointed a finger at Aramis with a stern look before flashing Sylvie a small smile and leaving.

Aramis sat back in his chair, still looking at the blank paper. He put the pen in the ink pot and dragged a hand over his face, exhaling deeply. Sylvie approached the desk and gently put a hand on his shoulder, looking at him worriedly. She hadn’t seen him like this before, with his mood yo-yoing from practically mute to sharp then back to mute again. “Aramis?”

He jolted slightly and blinked at her before sighing, as if she had woke him from a particularly deep sleep. “I’m sorry, I’m not the best company right now. I need to think. There are matters that need dealing with.”

“Surely they can wait til morning.” She reasoned, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “You need to process this, and you can’t do that if you’re working.”

“It can’t wait. Spain isn’t waiting, France isn’t waiting, I don’t get to just decide to stop until it suits me.”

“You know that’s not what Porthos is doing.” She frowned at him. “He watched them die, Aramis, of course he can’t look at the battlefield. He’s not trying to make your life difficult. He’s grieving and needs time, and so do you. You’re in shock.”

“And I’m First Minister.” Aramis looked at her, his tone of voice final. “I’m sorry, Sylvie, but I have work to do. I can’t let myself be distracted.”

Sylvie sighed and removed her hand from Aramis’ shoulder. She wasn’t going to push him if he refused to listen. “Take care, Aramis. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Aramis nodded slightly, looking back to the paper in front of him. “If you need anything-”

“Thank you.” She smiled faintly at him as she turned to leave. “Try to get some sleep.”

 

There had been very little time since Sylvie had heard the news of Athos’ death where she had been alone. She almost always had Raoul with her and Porthos had made sure she never had to be by herself for too long, which she imagined was as much for his benefit as it was for hers. That way no one had to suffer by themselves.

The walk back to the garrison was a lonely one and she pulled her travelling cloak tighter around herself. Solitude didn’t suit Sylvie. She was more than capable of handling herself, her parents had made sure of that, but for much of her life she had been surrounded by friends and family and loneliness wasn’t something she was used to. She and her parents had always been close and when her mother had passed away, she and her father had leant on each other for support. When the war had gotten too close to their village for comfort, they had helped organise the evacuation of those who had wanted to leave and together had moved as many people as they could to the refugee settlement in Paris. She was rarely alone. She knew it was ridiculous. She knew that once she reached the garrison she would be surrounded by friends again and she could have her baby back in her arms. But for now, walking through the streets of Paris, she couldn’t shake the feeling of isolation.

The courtyard of the garrison was empty as she walked through the archway. She wasn’t surprised - most of the cadets would either be in their rooms or out at a tavern. She wondered how they were taking the news. They had lost their friends and their captain, and now they were the only remaining musketeers. How were they supposed to defend Paris when they hadn’t even finished their training? Were they now expected to follow the regiment to their deaths on the front? She wouldn’t be surprised if by morning their numbers weren’t diminished further by a handful just not coming back. The threat to them as soldiers was almost more apparent now that they had lost men like this. The musketeers were often held up under a banner of highly skilled soldiers who could cope in any situation and win the day, and this image was what drew recruits to the regiment. The reality of it was that they were human and fallible, and their opponents want to win as much as they do and while their skills as soldiers set them in good stead, they were often fighting for their lives and sometimes they lost. The truth of soldiery never lives up to the romanticised version they’re taught as boys.

She pushed open the door to Constance’s rooms, to see Elodie putting her cloak back on and Porthos carrying a fast asleep Marie-Cessette. He looked exhausted himself and she couldn’t blame him.

“Whatever Aramis said, I don’t want to hear it.” He said as soon as he saw her, a weak smile on his face. “I just want to go home.”

“He didn’t say much you hadn’t already heard.” Sylvie’s tone was apologetic. “He’s in shock, he’ll get past it.”

“I know. He always does. He does something rash and stupid, then reflects and lets himself actually feel what he’s feeling.” Porthos looked to Elodie then back to Sylvie. “I think I just need some time to be with my family right now.” 

“You’ve more than earned it.” Constance said warmly, brushing her hands down her skirt. “Elodie, are you sure you don’t want to take the stew with you?”

“Oh, no.” Elodie shook her head with a grin. “That was all a ploy to make sure you have decent food. I’ll see you both tomorrow - I’m coming back with a real bassinet.” She stepped forwards to kiss Sylvie on the cheek before heading out.

“Sylvie, try to make sure Constance has some food before she goes to sleep.” Porthos advised, smiling slightly at the two of them. “Goodnight.” 

Constance gave a slight wave as he closed the door behind him, looking to Sylvie. “I worry about that man.”

“And he worries about you, so I suppose you’re even.” Sylvie replied with a small smile. She sat down, watching Constance as she fussed around the kitchen. “Sit down, you’re as bad as Aramis.”

“Not quite as bad.” Constance said somewhat defensively but she slowed down and sat, if reluctantly. “He started on something much bigger than tidying.”   
“Your jobs are different, but you both find something to keep you busy when you don’t want to think.” Sylvie pointed out gently. 

“Is that so bad?” Constance looked down at her lap, folding her hands together. “They’re jobs that need doing.”

“You need to rest. You’re shattered, your hands are shaking, you’ve barely eaten.” A sense of deja vu came over Sylvie as she spoke, reminded of Porthos saying almost exactly the same thing to her a week ago. The reason she had been convinced to eat and sleep was so she could look after Raoul, only she had no such bargaining ability with Constance.

“If I stop, then I start imagining. I don’t want to think about him.” Constance’s voice wavered and a tear fell into her lap. She wiped her eyes and reached into the pouch on her belt, pulling out a gold ring.

D’Artagnan’s wedding ring, Sylvie thought, and her heart broke all over again for her friend. She reached for Constance’s free hand, her brow furrowed in sympathy.

“Porthos brought it back. He said he knows D’Artagnan would have wanted it on him, but he was worried looters would take it so he got it before they could. He said we could put it back on D’Artagnan’s hand before we bury him but I don’t know if I can give it back.” Constance shook her head and laughed hollowly, tears still streaming down her face. She turned the ring over and over in her fingers. “I know it’s selfish and I know he would have wanted to be buried wearing it but … it’s all I have left of him.”

“I’m sure he would understand.” Sylvie tried to reassure her. Perhaps it was a bit selfish but she couldn’t blame her. Had Athos married her, she had no doubt she would feel the same way.

“We can’t know that, can we? He’s dead.” She exhaled unsteadily and shook her head. “He would respect my wishes, were he in my place.”

“Did he have a will?” Sylvie suggested, rubbing her thumb over the back of Constance’s hand. “I doubt he would want you to have nothing of his.”

“I don’t know. I know he has land back in Gascony, so he would need something to set his affairs straight but he thought he was coming back. I don’t know if he would have thought to. He wasn’t even thirty.” Constance looked at Sylvie, her eyes red-rimmed. “I imagine Athos left a will.”

Sylvie dropped her gaze at that, looking at their linked hands. “If he has, we haven’t found it. We did look, Porthos and I, but we were both a bit of a mess so we may have missed it. I should probably go back to look for it again soon, but the idea of facing that house just makes me want to be sick. It so much reminds me of him.”

Constance nodded in understanding, squeezing Sylvie’s hand. “You won’t have to go alone, when you do go back. Just tell me when and I’ll pack the saddle-bags. One of the stablehands brought the contents of yours in while we were at the palace, by the way.”

“Thank you.” Sylvie said, and she meant it. The thought of going back to that enormous house by herself was daunting and she knew she would need support. Besides the more people who came with her, the less empty it would feel and the less likely she would be to spontaneously burst into tears. She knew it spooked Raoul when she did, and the last thing she wanted to do was unsettle him any more than was necessary. There was already so many upheavals in his life, he didn’t need to see his mum cry all the time too. “It’s just a lot to take in, everything that’s happened.”

“I know.” Constance said quietly and sighed, slipping the ring back into her pouch. She rubbed her hand across her eyes. “I don’t think I can sleep tonight. My head’s all over the place.” 

“You’ll only feel worse if you don’t.” Sylvie warned, although she completely understood. She’d barely slept a wink the first night.

“Easier said than done.” Constance paused briefly. “At the risk of sounding pathetic, will you sleep next to me? I can’t… I don’t want to be alone.”

Sylvie smiled slightly at her and nodded. “Of course. In all honesty, I’d rather not sleep alone either.” 

Constance stood, still holding Sylvie’s hand. “I’ve been sleeping alone these past few weeks but it just feels different now that I know he’s not.. It’s harder. The thought of going to sleep and there not being anyone there, and knowing there won’t be anyone there again.” The tears she had managed to stem began to fall again and she sniffed. “Oh, for goodness sake…”

Sylvie stood with a frown and wiped away Constance’s tears with her handkerchief. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Her voice was soft and she tucked a stray curl of Constance’s behind her ear. “I couldn’t sleep in the bed Athos and I used to share after Porthos told me, he slept next to me in one of the other bedrooms. You found out hours ago, you don’t have to be okay. None of us do.”

“I just should have anticipated it. I always knew this could happen, I mean I married a soldier, but after so long I’d just started to trust he’d come back, and this time we treated him leaving for the front like it was insignificant. I kissed him and told him I loved him, and then went back to collecting upkeep money from the recruits. I didn’t even watch him leave.” Constance held onto Sylvie’s hand tightly. 

Sylvie pressed a light kiss to Constance’s forehead, trying to comfort her. “He knew you love him, that’s the important part. I don’t think he ever doubted that.” 

“I hope not.” Constance closed her eyes at the kiss and sighed quietly. “Let’s go to bed.”  
After extinguishing the fireplace and candles and bringing Raoul’s basket through to the bedroom, the pair settled into bed. They lay in silence in the darkness for a while but Sylvie’s mind was still racing. Constance’s words about D’Artagnan’s departure stuck with her and she couldn’t stop herself thinking back to when Athos left.

She had known Athos had been preoccupied since D’Artagnan’s visit and announcement that the musketeers were headed to the front again. He never liked to talk about the war and normally that suited her just fine, but he had so obviously been fixated on it and he wouldn’t let her in to help him sort through whatever was going through his head. He’d barely spoken through dinner but had insisted on settling Raoul down to sleep himself. When Athos returned to her before bed, he had kissed her and held her like she was the only thing in the world, and yet she hadn’t been able to shift the uneasy feeling in her stomach that something wasn’t right. 

Her fears had been confirmed the next morning when she woke to an empty bed and a note that read;   
‘My dearest Sylvie,  
I know you will not forgive me but I have joined the regiment at the front. I cannot sit by while my brothers fight, and I cannot let them face the threat alone. I will not be gone long, six weeks at most, but please do not worry. I will always come home to you, as long as you will have me.  
All of my love,  
Your Athos  
PS: Please give Raoul a kiss from me.’

She had been angry with him. He had snuck off before she woke, and he hadn’t allowed her the chance to dissuade him from going. Perhaps he had known she would manage it. It was stupid and irresponsible of him, but as time passed she reasoned with herself that Athos had been the Captain of the Musketeers when she had met him, and that he had survived his 34 years in large part due to his being an excellent swordsman. She still worried, of course, but the anger had begun to fade. 

However in hindsight, she knew that she had lost him from the moment she read the letter. She had brought it with her, unable to leave it behind as Athos’ last words she would read, tucked into her coin pouch for safekeeping. She had not been able to say goodbye, and even though she understood Constance’s longing for a more emotional parting she couldn’t help her slight jealousy that she had been able to see the man she loved off at all.

A gust of cold wind blew and she shifted closer to Constance, noticing her do the same. The weather was starting to turn as autumn drew in, there was a slight chill in the air and Sylvie was grateful of Constance’s initiative to line the basket with blankets. Raoul’s clothes were warm, but still she worried. 

“I can hear you thinking from here.” Constance’s voice came out of the darkness, and Sylvie could hear the slight smile in her voice.

“I can’t sleep any more than you can.” Sylvie replied, drawing the blanket closer to her with a shiver.

“Are you cold?” Constance shuffled closer, wrapping an arm around Sylvie’s waist. “You should have said something, I’m freezing.”

“I didn’t want to bother you. I’m not that cold.” Sylvie said, cuddling back up to Constance.

“Oh. You don’t mind, do you?” Constance asked, her hesitation clear in her voice and she began to move her arm away. 

“No, no, you’re fine, it’s nice. … I sleep better while cuddling. Certainly at the moment.” Sylvie said, her relief when Constance put her arm back surprising her a little. 

“Then I won’t go anywhere.” Constance said, attempting to hide a yawn and failing.

Sylvie smiled slightly to herself at her words and closed her eyes. She was exhausted, but sleep just wouldn’t come, and from Constance’s fidgeting the same was true for her. She finally fell asleep just before dawn as the sun peeked in around the shutters. In the morning, they would deal with Constance feeling guilty she had fallen asleep wrapped around someone else in the bed she and D’Artagnan shared, but for now they could rest. Everything else could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the positive feedback on the first chapter, it means a lot. Hopefully this one wasn't too heartbreaking (who am I kidding, that was so hard to write). An unwanted visitor is going to make an appearance next chapter, so keep your eyes peeled for the next update. Thank you again!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis tries to cope with the news, and an unwelcome familiar face makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks to ccaaii for letting me run ideas by him and helping me move the story forwards within the plan. 
> 
> Content warning for vomit in this chapter.

Aramis was sure he wouldn’t sleep that night. He stayed at his desk, poring over maps and documents to try and come up with some sort of plan by candlelight. He wrote a letter calling for an urgent meeting of the council, he scanned his correspondence with the front but all of the words seemed to merge together. His head was spinning and he couldn't think. He wanted to believe that Porthos was mistaken, that two of the dearest people in his life weren’t suddenly gone, but according to Sylvie he had seen it happen. There was no way that Porthos could mistake something like that.

His friends were right - he couldn’t work like this. He couldn’t focus and his eyes ached from the strain of reading for so long. There was a heavy weight in his chest and breathing felt like a chore as he took a few deep breaths, running his hand through his hair.

“Knock knock.” A voice came from across the room and Aramis looked up, relieved to see Anne’s head poking around the door that connected their chambers. 

“I thought you might have gone to bed.” She said, crossing the room to him. She perched on the edge of his desk, her bare feet nudging his shin lightly. Her tone was carefully light, as if she was afraid of startling him. “It’s too late to be writing.”

“I can’t sleep.” He said quietly, lacing their fingers together as she reached for his hand. “Did you hear what Porthos said?” He was sure she must have. She would have been listening to see who was there and when it was safe to come back through, she must have heard Porthos’ words too. 

She nodded, her expression downcast. “I did.” She watched him carefully. “Aramis, I’m so sorry. They were great men.”

“They were.” Aramis drew her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it, holding it there as he closed his eyes. He knew she would be able to feel his hands trembling and he felt the fingers of her free hand running through his hair soothingly. His voice shook. “They were some of the best men I ever knew.”

Anne leant forwards and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “And some of the best soldiers the crown has seen.”

“Yes.” Aramis agreed, blinking as tears began to fall. It had been a long time since he had felt this helpless and so completely lost. It was as if someone had torn off one of his limbs and then the world expected him to carry on as if he was fine. His friends telling him he could, or rather should, stop and take a moment didn’t mean he was actually able to, and their inability to understand that had made him more determined to prove he could do it. Only they had been right, of course, and now he was close to the second panic attack in two hours as everything overwhelmed him.

Anne didn’t say anything, only pulled him closer and wrapped her arms around him. He leant in, burying his face in her shoulder as his tears came faster until his whole body shook with his sobs. He couldn’t breathe and everything was spinning, and he clung to the plush material of Anne’s dressing gown in an attempt to ground himself. It was too much, it was too much, it was too much-

“Breathe, darling, breathe.” 

He tried to focus on Anne’s voice, tried to do as she told but breath was harder and harder to hold onto. “I can’t, it’s too- I can’t, Ana, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” Her tone was calm and comforting, and she ran her fingers through his hair to try to bring him back from his spiral. “You can, just feel my breathing and breathe in time with me. One, two, three, four…”

He followed her guidance as best as he could, his breaths coming in gulps and gasps. He removed himself from her arms just in time to reach the chamber pot by his bed to vomit, bile burning his nose and his eyes stung. He felt Anne behind him, rubbing his back and murmuring soothing words, shushing him gently as he retched into the bowl. 

He sat back on his heels shivering when he could be sick no more and she wiped his mouth and chin with a handkerchief, setting it aside before wrapping her arms tightly around him. 

They sat in silence for several minutes before Aramis spoke again, his voice shaking as he sniffed and wiped his eyes. “I don’t want to believe it.” 

“I don’t either.” Her voice was soft as she wiped away a stray tear. He leant into her touch and closed his eyes briefly. “I can’t imagine how you must feel right now.”

“Empty.” He admitted quietly, unable to meet her eyes. “And one hundred percent responsible.”

Anne shook her head slightly, watching him. “That’s the grief talking.”

“No.” He insisted, his brow furrowing. His voice wavered but his words were sure. “If I hadn’t sent the musketeer regiment out to the front, they wouldn’t be dead. D’Artagnan would still be in Paris, Athos would still be in Blois and they’d both be safe. I handed them their death sentence.”

She frowned deeply at him. “Aramis, look at me. You sent the regiment because we were dangerously low on soldiers and they’re the best we have. It was supposed to be temporary until we could train more infantrymen, and they all knew the risk from the moment they signed up, D’Artagnan included. That was why Athos had retired. The opposition played dirty, that’s why they… It isn’t your fault.” 

“Just because they knew the risks doesn’t make it okay.” He stood unsteadily and made his way over to the fireplace, placing another log on the dwindling flames to reignite them. He shook his head, his tear streaked face illuminated by the fire light. “I killed my best friends for the greater good, and now I have to live with that.”

“You did no such thing.” Anne made her way over to him, her expression concerned. “Them dying doesn’t mean you killed them. Athos wasn’t even supposed to be there, how is that your fault?” 

“I as good as killed them.” He avoided her eyes again, dragging his hand across his face. “So now we have to win, more than ever. Otherwise what was it for? That’s why I need to be working, that’s why I need to be writing. If we don’t win, they died for nothing and I can’t… Porthos didn’t understand that. He said he had to rest.”

“He’s right, you should both be resting. You’re not in any fit state to write, look at you, you’re still shaking.” She moved to wrap her arms around him. “Just lie down with me. Take a moment, a few minutes ago you were shuddering so hard you were sick.”

“I have to plan-”

“Aramis, please.”

“I can’t.”

“Aramis, _please _.” Anne beseeched him, looking up at him. “Please, just for a few moments. I’m worried about you.”__

__Aramis looked at her for a moment before sighing quietly. “Okay. Only for a bit, I need to go back to the map.”_ _

__Anne nodded and took him by the hand, guiding him over to the bed where she pulled him down next to her and rested her head on his shoulder with an arm across his stomach. His arm around her shoulders he pressed his lips to her hair and closed his eyes as he exhaled slowly, focussing on her presence as he tried to ground himself to a point where he could convince her he was fine to go back to working. He knew she would protest, but as long as he could prove he wasn’t going to be sick again he might be able to- Oh, who was he kidding? Now Anne had him in bed and cuddling, he wasn’t going to go back to his desk._ _

__“How is Porthos taking it?” Anne asked after a moment. “He must be struggling.”_ _

__“I…” Aramis started to speak, suddenly feeling nauseous again. “I didn’t ask.” In his stress and panic, he hadn’t thought to. “I couldn’t breathe and he held me, then I told him we had to get to work and he insisted he couldn’t, and I said…” He exhaled slowly. “I said if he couldn’t be General du Vallon then more people would die, and he told me he needed me to be Aramis, not the First Minister then he left, and-”_ _

__Quickly, he pushed himself up off the bed to vomit in the pot again, his heaves eventually turning into coughs. He knelt over the bowl and closed his eyes, tears stinging them once again. “Jesus Christ, I’m pathetic.” He muttered, wiping his face with his own handkerchief._ _

__“You’re not pathetic.” Anne said quietly, watching him from where she sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re struggling, there’s a difference.”_ _

__“It was pathetic of me to not comfort my friend when he needed me.” He sighed, pushing the pot away from him. “He must be furious.”_ _

__“Porthos, furious with you? I don’t think so.” She smiled slightly as she tilted her head. Her smile faded and she reached out to gently rub his back. “You should go and see him in the morning. He’ll understand your reaction wasn’t a rational one, most people find rationality a challenge after such awful news.”_ _

__“What if he won’t see me? I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t want to.”_ _

__“Then give him time. You need each other.” She reminded him. “But if I know Porthos, there is little you could do that would make him unwilling to speak to you.”_ _

__Aramis nodded slightly and got to his feet, making his way over to his desk to pick up the doublet he had discarded earlier in his attempts to think._ _

__“What are you doing?” Anne frowned slightly, confused._ _

__“I’m going to see Porthos.” He said, his tone implying that that should be obvious as he shrugged into his sleeves._ _

__“It’s the middle of the night.” Her frown deepened. “You can’t go out at this time.”_ _

__“I’ll be perfectly safe. I was a musketeer once, remember?” He headed over to a cabinet to take out his sword and belt._ _

__“He’ll be sleeping, Aramis. Go in the morning.” She stood and crossed the room to take the sword from him to put it away again. “After you’ve slept.”_ _

__“But I have to talk to him.”_ _

__“He’ll still be there in the morning. Let him sleep.”_ _

__Aramis sighed resignedly. He knew she was right. It wasn’t like they lived at the garrison anymore, where they were more often than not in each other’s rooms anyway. Porthos had been riding for days and must be completely shattered. He took his doublet off again and hung it over the back of a chair, running his hand over his face. “Will you come to bed with me?” He asked quietly._ _

__“Of course.” Anne replied instantly, reaching up to cup his cheek with her hand. “But let’s sleep in my rooms. You might sleep better away from your desk.”_ _

__Smiling slightly at her, he followed her back through the connecting doors to her room and they settled down in bed. He still wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep but with Anne dozing on his chest and his arms around her, he knew that in honesty he would rather be here than staring at the plan of the battlefield._ _

__He must have fallen asleep at some point as the first rays of sunlight streaming in through the windows caused him to stir and he blinked awake. He had an awful headache and he felt as if he hadn’t slept a wink, but he knew he must have. Ever so carefully he rolled Anne onto her back so he could get out of bed and he pulled his stockings and breeches back on._ _

__“Mm..?” Anne murmured sleepily, cracking an eye open to look at him._ _

__“Ssh, go back to sleep.” He turned to press a light kiss to her cheek._ _

__She glanced over at the clock and groaned quietly. “Aramis, it’s six thirty.”_ _

__“By the time I get to Porthos’ it will be seven. I’ll be back before the council meeting at nine.” He reassured her and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear._ _

__She sighed quietly and smiled tiredly at him. “Okay. Give Porthos and Elodie my love.”_ _

__“Of course.” He returned her smile and picked up his boots before heading back to his room._ _

__

__Standing outside Porthos’ door in the grey light of the morning, Aramis paused. Despite Anne’s reassurances, he wasn’t convinced Porthos would want to see him. He had needed a friend last night and received a politician. He had every right to be upset with him and Aramis didn’t blame him for leaving. He knew he would have done had Porthos disregarded his feelings in the same way. But he hadn’t. Porthos had held him and tried to console him, and then he had needed Aramis to do the same and he had thrown it back in his face._ _

__Taking a deep breath, Aramis knocked at the door. He took a step back, glancing up at the windows. No answer. Don’t stress, he told himself, he’s probably just taking some time to get to the door. He waited a minute before knocking again. Still nothing. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He couldn’t blame him. He didn’t want to talk to himself right now either. He turned and started to walk back down the street._ _

__“Aramis?”_ _

__Porthos stood in the now open doorway, frowning sleepily at him as Aramis turned back around._ _

__“Porthos! Thank God, I-.” He started to speak but Porthos cut him off._ _

__“It’s barely sunrise, what’s wrong?” He looked at Aramis concernedly._ _

__“I need to talk to you.”_ _

__His frown deepened and he crossed his arms as he leant against the doorframe. “What about?”_ _

__“I wanted to apologise.” Aramis met his eyes, his expression open and sincere._ _

__Porthos looked at him for a moment before stepping back. “You should probably come in, then.”_ _

__Aramis flashed him a brief smile as he followed Porthos inside. He nervously ran his hand through his hair again, watching him. Porthos shut the door behind him, sighing quietly. “What did you want to say?”_ _

__“I can’t stay long but I…” Aramis hesitated slightly, letting his hand fall to his side. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did. Of course you can’t plan right now, _I_ couldn’t and I’m the one who was insisting we should. I should have been your friend and I wasn’t. And I’d like to apologise for that.”_ _

__Porthos nodded slightly, looking down briefly before looking back at Aramis. “Thank you for saying that. After everything…” He sighed quietly. “It felt like I was losing you too. I didn’t want to argue with you but I knew if I stayed that that would happen, so I left. I get that you’re hurting, but I am too.”_ _

__“I know, and I should have been more conscious of that.” Aramis admitted. “You don’t have to do anything, just spend some time with Elodie and Marie-Cessette and then let me know when you’re ready to come back, or if you want to come back. I’ll put you on leave.”_ _

__Porthos nodded again. “What about you?”_ _

__“What about me?”_ _

__“You said you couldn’t work, so what are you going to do?”_ _

__“I have to anyway. I have a meeting with the council at nine, so I should really have something to show them beyond the news.” He rubbed his hand across his face. “I didn’t get anything done last night, I just stared at the map until Anne came through. That’s why I can’t stay, I have to get back to my desk.”_ _

__Porthos frowned disapprovingly, seeming to consider something. “Okay, fine.” He said eventually._ _

__It was Aramis’ turn to frown. “Fine?”_ _

__“I’ll come to the meeting. You can’t go in there alone, you don’t have any plans moving forwards and you don’t have a detailed picture of what happened. I’ll come, and then I’m taking you up on that offer of leave.” He smiled faintly at his friend. “On one condition.”_ _

__Aramis blinked at him, stunned. “What?”_ _

__“You move the meeting to twelve. I was hoping to sleep in today.” Porthos’ smile grew_ _

__“I can do that. But are you sure you want to come? You don’t have to, I’ll manage.” He checked, not sure if Porthos was just saying this to help him out or if he was actually happy to come._ _

__“The council will need a full report and you need back-up.” Porthos nodded. “But once the meeting’s done, I’m off. I can’t keep going. And neither should you.”_ _

__“Anne said the same thing.” He smiled slightly, meeting his eyes. “Maybe I should start listening to the smart people in my life.”_ _

__“Maybe.” Porthos grinned and stepped forwards to pull Aramis into a hug. Aramis exhaled shakily as he hugged back, burying his face in his shoulder. Thank God Porthos was smiling again. He had thought he might have cost himself his last brother with his behaviour last night, and the relief that he hadn’t made him somewhat unsteady again. “But I think we both know that’s not going to happen.”_ _

__Aramis returned his smile. “I do listen sometimes.”_ _

__“Selective hearing.” Porthos smirked and clapped him on the arm. “I’ll see you at twelve.”_ _

__

__The council meeting was a tough one. Porthos arrived in his uniform and gave his report of the attack and the deaths that followed, his voice level and professional. Had Aramis not known him so well he might have been fooled but he knew how much it was taking out of Porthos to be here. He hated having to ask this of him but such was warfare - they had to work as quickly as they could to come up with a contingency for the now dire shortage of soldiers. As quickly as the idea was suggested, Porthos shot down the idea of sending the musketeer cadets, arguing that Paris would become very unsafe quickly with no musketeer presence. Aramis seconded him, and Anne agreed that they should stay and forces would have to be drawn from elsewhere._ _

__Several hours passed before the meeting was brought to a close and Aramis stood outside the meeting room, exhausted. All he wanted to do was sleep, but the images evoked of the massacre from Porthos’ report would not let him. Horrific figures of Athos and D’Artagnan’s bloody corpses haunted his mind and he shuddered, jumping in fright as the door opened._ _

__“That’s the second time in twenty four hours you’ve almost given me a heart attack, Your Majesty.” Aramis told Anne without malice as he bowed to greet her._ _

__She gave him a small smile. “I’ll have to be more careful, Minister. Will you walk with me?”_ _

__Aramis nodded his consent and kept pace with her as she headed out into the grounds where they had slightly more privacy. “Was the outcome of the meeting satisfactory to Your Majesty?”_ _

__“Quite. Although I do wish we didn’t have to resort to what is essentially a recruitment drive. How are we supposed to defend French territory if our soldiers are barely outfitted and only just know the right end of a musket?” She sighed quietly, shaking her head. Her tone grew softer. “And you, Minister? How are you after the session?”_ _

__“Content from a practical perspective, but…” He glanced around them briefly and shook his head. “I can’t get them out of my head. Porthos had told me what happened, of course, but to hear it so starkly to a room of council members who care little for the individuals who lost their lives and what that loss will do to their families… It’s challenging.”_ _

__Anne frowned deeply and slipped her hand around his arm. “It’s horrible, what happened. They deserved better.”_ _

__“They would have wanted to go down fighting.” Aramis said quietly, and he covered her hand with his. “Neither of them would have wanted to pass away in their bed surrounded by family. Honour. Duty. … One might call it bravery or stupidity, depending on the mood.”_ _

__“They were both incredibly brave men, you know that.”_ _

__“I do. And we’ll make sure Raoul knows his father died to protect his country, and how brave he was, but I still can’t help think that we shouldn’t have to tell him - that Raoul should be able to see for himself how brave his father is- Oh, Christ…” He sniffed as he felt himself welling up and he reached for his handkerchief to dry his eyes._ _

__“How are Sylvie and Constance taking the news?” Anne asked, squeezing his arm to try to comfort him. As they moved further away from the palace and the guards they were able to speak more freely. “Is there anything we can do?”_ _

__“They both seem to be hanging in there, but obviously they’re very upset. Porthos said Sylvie is staying with Constance for a while while she figures out what she’s going to do. She doesn’t want to return to Blois just yet, understandably.”_ _

__“Of course.” Anne nodded. “But what does she need to figure out? Surely Athos’ estates will be left to her and Raoul.”_ _

__“They never married and she and Porthos couldn’t find a will, which complicates things.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Sylvie’s not convinced he had one at all.”_ _

__“Well, that shouldn’t be too much of a problem.” Anne said slowly, thinking things through. “If there’s no will and no one to inherit, seeing as Raoul is illegitimate, his estates will be absorbed into the Crown, to be redistributed as desired. And I’ve heard the Queen Regent has a rather generous spirit.” She said with a smile._ _

__Relief washed over Aramis and he raised her hand to his lips to kiss. “She is also a brilliant, brilliant woman with a quick mind who would not leave her subjects to sink.”_ _

__“Certainly not.” She said, dimpling at him. “We will make sure they’re provided for with the money that is rightfully theirs.”_ _

__“Are you quite sure it’s rightfully theirs, Your Majesty?”_ _

__That voice. How could Aramis have forgotten about it’s owner? Milady de Winter, as graceful and terrifying as ever, as she emerged from an adjoining path._ _

__“Madame de Winter.” He said coldly. Over the years, it had been a rare occasion when her presence was a blessing and not a curse, and so he found it hard to dispel the uneasiness that settled in his gut at the sight of her._ _

__“First Minister, what a pleasant surprise.” She said with steel edged words and a razor blade smile. “Perhaps surprise is the wrong word. It’s so unusual to see you anywhere other than Her Majesty’s side nowadays.”_ _

__“His loyalty is commendable. Can I help you, Madame?” Anne asked, her face once again an impassive mask._ _

__Milady curtseyed deeply. “Pardon me, Your Majesty, I couldn’t help but overhear the discussion of the inheritance of the estate of the Comte de la Fere and henceforth the assumption his estates would return to the crown.”_ _

__“And why should they not? He had no legitimate issue and was unmarried.” Anne frowned deeply as a horrible realisation came over Aramis._ _

__“That is not entirely true, Majesty, as he was not unmarried. He was simply not married to Sylvie Boden. His wife is still alive and able to take possession of what is owed to her.” Milady continued, meeting Aramis’ eyes briefly._ _

__“I do not understand.” Anne looked to Aramis, her brow furrowed._ _

__He closed his eyes briefly. “Madame de Winter is the Comtesse de la Fere, Your Majesty. They married young and separated, but they were still legally married. She can lay claim to the estate.”_ _

__“And why am I only hearing of this now?” She asked, looking to Milady and then back to Aramis._ _

__“The deception was not intentional, Your Majesty, but I did not wish to complicate things.” Milady bowed her head again, a show of subservience that was just that - a show. “I know how much you respected the comte and I did not wish to bring any personal quarrels I may have had with him into our professional relationship.”_ _

__“But you’re more than happy to take a dead man’s money when his child and the woman he loved may go hungry without it?” Aramis couldn’t help but snap._ _

__“Minister, I apologise if I have offended, but the welfare of his mistress and bastard are of no concern to me.” Her words were cutting and she held his gaze firm. She would not waver and Aramis knew this._ _

__“There will be a will.” He said resolutely, his gaze stony._ _

__“And if there isn’t? He wasn’t the most organised man, God rest his soul, so I wouldn’t count on it.” She tilted her head condescendingly before curtseying again to Anne. “Your Majesty, I will take my leave. Minister.” She looked once again to Aramis. “I will give you two weeks to find this supposed will but I shall tell you this now -_ _

__I will have what I am owed.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Constance or Sylvie this chapter, but they'll be back next time now shit's hit the fan. I would apologise for somewhat of a cliffhanger but I'm not that sorry! Thank you all for the kudos and comments, they keep me motivated, and thank you so much for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis and Porthos tell Constance and Sylvie about Milady's intentions and the gang put a plan into action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Brief description of pretty nasty injury.

“She can’t _do_ that!” Constance said furiously. She was livid, gripping the mantlepiece tightly as she looked to Aramis. Initially when he and Porthos had knocked at the door she had been glad to see him after how they had left things the night before, but the look on his face clearly told her he wasn’t here for a social call.

“Unfortunately, she can.” Aramis stood by her kitchen table, his expression grave. “And she will. She was quite determined on that point.”

“That bloody woman.” Constance swore, her brow furrowed deeply. Of course Milady would do this. She was a vulture, always swooping in to take advantage of misfortune. The only way she and Athos had been married for years was in law, their love a thing lost to time and bitterness. If she at all respected Athos’ memory, she would stand aside and let Sylvie and his son to what he surely would have wanted them to have. To Milady, this wasn’t about Athos, it was about money, Constance was sure of this. “What can we do?”

“We have to find the will. If my dealings with Madame de Winter on a personal level were not sufficient, I have worked with her over the last year to know that she will be trying to find it too. She wouldn’t leave it to chance that she might not inherit, she’ll be looking to get rid of it.” Aramis ran a hand through his hair, visibly stressed.

“If a will does exist, there’s no way Athos would have left anything to her. He would have made sure Sylvie and Raoul were provided for.” Constance said confidently, looking to Porthos who was sat in a chair by the table.

“And that will have her spooked. She won’t risk it.” He said firmly, shaking his head. “We have to get to it before she does.”

“Where do we start?” Sylvie spoke up from where she leant against the counter. Constance could see the tension in her face, lines in her forehead having remained since Aramis and Porthos told them of Milady’s intentions. Constance knew she had not been holding out hope for the will but now with Milady in the picture she had to. She had to hope that one existed and that they could find it first. 

“I’d thought it’d be at Blois, that’s why I suggested we look when I came to tell you what had happened.” Porthos grimaced slightly. He sighed heavily and sat back in his chair. “At least that’s where I thought a will that named you and Raoul as the inheritors would be.” 

“If it was there it would mean he thought ahead.” Sylvie glanced to Constance. “He left so quickly, I doubt he sat down to write before he did.” She looked back to Porthos. “Was there anything with his belongings?” 

“Not that I saw.” Porthos said quietly. “I packed them up before I went, they should have arrived with him.”

“What?” Constance frowned slightly.

“The bodies. They arrived this morning.” Aramis told her. “There will be a state funeral, Anne is looking at arrangements for it as we speak.” 

“Is there any chance the will might be on him? If he wrote something before the fight?” She suggested, looking to Porthos. The thought occurred that it may not have survived, that it may have fallen out in transit but there might be a chance.

“I…” Porthos shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. I didn’t look too closely at them, it’s… I can go to the morgue.”

“You can’t go alone.” Aramis frowned deeply at him. “I’ll go with you.”

“You have to be at the palace.” Porthos reminded him. “You have to enact what was decided upon this morning. Besides you need to look to see if Athos left a will with Treville before the last time he went to war.”

Aramis nodded faintly, unable to argue with that.

“I can’t come.” Sylvie said quietly, meeting Porthos’ eyes. “I’m sorry, I can’t. My imagination of what he might look like now is bad enough, I can’t confirm it.”

“You don’t need to apologise.” Porthos reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s not a sight you ever get used to.”

Constance hesitated. The idea of her D’Artagnan and Athos’ bodies lain out on tables made her shudder but she didn’t want Porthos to have to go alone. He had endured enough of this by himself and he would not have to do so anymore if she had anything to do with it. She took a deep breath. “I’ll go with you.”

He looked at her, his expression concerned. “Are you sure? It’s not going to be nice, they weren’t… They weren’t in good shape.”

“You need someone to go with you and I can, so I will.” She said, quietly determined regardless of how ill she felt at the thought. “Providing that’s okay with you, Sylvie.”

Sylvie nodded in response, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’ll go to see Elodie. I’ll meet you both back there?”

Porthos nodded his agreement and stood, straightening out his doublet as he looked to Aramis. “Elodie told me to tell you to come to dinner tonight. Her Majesty is more than welcome too, of course.”

“I’ll try to get away and I’ll pass the invitation onto her.” Aramis said with a weak smile. “Good luck. I pray we can sort this mess out before it gets worse.”

“You and me both.” Porthos grimaced and waited for Constance to put on her cloak before guiding her out the door.

 

The morgue was dank and cold. Constance drew her cloak tighter around herself as she followed Porthos down the steps. The only light was by candle and a few short windows high on the walls, and it was as if someone had taken her worst nightmares and made them real. Porthos was right, death was never a thing you got used to. After tending to so many dying and wounded when the garrison fell, she had thought she would be able to stomach it but in this place where the only living people were herself, Porthos and the man who prepared the bodies for burial she had never found herself to be so wrong. She wanted nothing more than to turn and leave but she wouldn’t allow herself to abandon Porthos. 

“We’re here for the body of the musketeer Athos.” Porthos addressed the mortician, his voice level and his posture perfect. 

The mortician raised an eyebrow and looked between them. “And you are?”

“General du Vallon, and this is Madame D’Artagnan, widow to Captain Charles D’Artagnan and close friend of Athos’.” 

“You only wish to see Athos?” He asked, looking questioningly at Constance.

“At present, yes.” She replied, clasping her hands under her cloak to hide how they shook. She wanted her last memory of D’Artagnan’s face to be the one where he lived and kissed her goodbye. She would pay her respects at his grave, not here.

“Very good. Follow me, please.” The man turned and walked down the room, expecting them to follow. 

Constance went in front of Porthos, keeping her eyes steadfastly ahead of her rather than allowing herself to look at the bodies either side of the room. They were here for Sylvie and Raoul and she had to stay focussed or she would bolt. Approaching the table the mortician had stopped by, she frowned deeply. 

“Why is his face covered?” She asked, looking to Porthos before back to the mortician.

“When he arrived, there wasn’t much of it left.” The mortician shrugged slightly, either not noticing or not caring for Constance’s aghast expression. “Musket ball to the temple-”

“That will be all.” Porthos said sharply, ignoring the irritated noise the man made as he walked away muttering. He turned to Constance, wrapping a supportive arm around her. “Are you alright?” He spoke quietly, trying to catch her gaze as her eyes darted about.

“Thank God Sylvie isn’t here.” Constance breathed unsteadily, leaning against Porthos. “No face, I might be sick.” 

“Come on, this was a mistake.” Porthos attempted to guide her away. “ _Constance_.” He frowned when she refused to budge.

“No, we need to look for the will or there was no point in coming. I’m fine, will you…” She gestured towards Athos’ body, unable to look at it. 

Porthos nodded slowly and let go of her to approach the table, searching for the paper while being careful not to disturb the cloth over his head. Constance turned and slowly made her way back up the room. She wanted to be here even less now and her imagination ran wild with grotesque images of what might be under the cloth. She shuddered, not wanting to think about it but still the image made it’s way into her mind. 

She walked slowly and carefully in the low light, not wanting to trip or knock into something or someone. She would wait by the door, she thought. Daylight might make it seem less grim. Passing by bodies, she thought of the families of all of these soldiers, most from her regiment. Brujon had only been properly inducted 18 months ago, and yet there he lay. She would have to call on his mother and make sure she was okay. This would be her job now, managing the recruits and helping care for the families who had lost sons, brothers, fathers and husbands.

And there was her D’Artagnan. She hadn’t wanted to see him, it would make it all too real, but there he was stretched out on the next table to Brujon. He looked so peaceful with his eyes closed. Were it not for the paleness of his skin and his slightly sunken cheeks she could convince herself he was sleeping and that he would wake any moment. The only sign of injury was a short cut in the leather of his doublet on the right side of his chest, a cut she presumed that had been deep enough to puncture his lung and she tentatively reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from his face with a trembling hand. He was so cold. 

“Constance?”

Porthos’ voice startled her and she turned.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his expression concerned before he noticed who she was standing by. He put an arm around her and spoke quietly. “We can go, if you’d like.”

“I don’t want to leave him.” She said, turning her attention back to the body. “This is the last time I’ll see him and I can’t…” Her voice cracked and she covered her face with her hand. “Oh, God, Porthos, he’s not coming back, is he?”

Porthos shook his head, pulling her into a tight hug to let her cry against his shoulder. “No.” He exhaled deeply, avoiding looking at his friend on the table. “No, he’s not.”

She’d known this, really. Intellectually she had known he wasn’t coming back, that if Porthos said he was dead that he was dead, but still a little part of her had clung to the idea that battle is chaotic and he may have been mistaken. She had in some part held onto the idea that D’Artagnan and Athos would ride back into the garrison, battered but otherwise unharmed, and that D’Artagnan would take her in his arms and she would kiss him and wouldn’t let go of him ever again. Seeing him like this was the worst confirmation she could have received. 

Porthos rubbed her back gently, closing his eyes. “Constance, I think I should take you home. We’ll collect their belongings and I’ll walk you back to the garrison.”

Constance didn’t argue. She pulled away from him to fish in the pouch at her waist for her husband’s wedding ring and slipped it onto D’Artagnan’s finger. She knew that this is what he would have wanted, to be buried with the symbol of their love on his hand, but it still felt like goodbye. She hesitated for a moment before dropping a kiss to his forehead, her tears splashing against his skin. “I love you, D’Artagnan.” She said quietly, wiping away the tears before turning to leave without a backwards look.

 

Porthos walked her back to the house and only left when he was certain she was okay to be alone. He would go home and ask Sylvie and Elodie to come back to the garrison with him, he said, that she needed a few home comforts and a rest. She couldn’t disagree with him, he was right and she was drained. 

Once he was gone, she went to change into one of D’Artagnan’s shirts and pairs of smalls, and climbed into bed. She hugged the blanket to her chest and she stared at the wall. She hadn’t expected seeing her husband’s body to hit her as hard as it had but she just felt empty. Her eyes drifted to the packages on the sideboard where Porthos had left them, one with Athos’ belongings and one with D’Artagnan’s. She would have to go through D’Artagnan’s at some point but right now she just wanted to sleep.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she heard the door open and she looked up to see Sylvie step inside with Raoul in her arms. Her face fell when she saw Constance in bed and she instantly went through to the bedroom to sit down on the bed next to her. She settled Raoul on the bed next to them and put her hand on Constance’s arm. 

“Porthos said you weren’t doing well but it’s the middle of the afternoon.” Sylvie looked at her worriedly, moving her hand down her arm to take her hand. “What can I do?”

Constance squeezed her hand and shook her head, her smile faint. “You can’t do anything.” She paused, debating explaining to her exactly what happened. “I saw them. Their bodies, it just made it all very real.”

“I can imagine.” Sylvie rubbed her thumb over the back of Constance’s hand, exhaling slowly. “Did you… No, I won’t ask you what they look like. I don’t want to know and I don’t want you to have to talk about it.”

Constance nodded gratefully. “Porthos brought Athos’ things back with us, he left them on the side. I wondered if you might sit with me while I go through D’Artagnan’s?” 

“Of course.” Sylvie smiled slightly, squeezing her hand. “Oh, someone wants a cuddle.” Her smile widened as Raoul began to army crawl up the bed to Constance and climbed onto her torso.

Constance couldn’t help but smile herself as the little boy flopped down on her chest, cuddling up to her with a small noise of contentment. She wrapped her free arm around him and he squealed loudly and buried his face in his own arms. Sylvie chuckled, shaking her head. “A thunderstorm couldn’t upset that boy. Athos used to say he’s a ray of sunshine and I have to agree, although I don’t think he got that from his father.”

Her smile grew sad and Constance tugged on Sylvie’s hand lightly. “Lie down and cuddle with us?” She asked, meeting Sylvie’s eyes over the top of Raoul’s head.

Sylvie hesitated for a second before lying down next to Constance. Raoul exclaimed loudly in happiness and he reached for his mum with tiny hands. She took Raouls hands in hers and blew a raspberry loudly on his palm to make him giggle. Constance smiled herself, watching the two of them. She had gone back and forth on wanting children herself for years. When she had been younger, she’d dreamt of motherhood and of having someone she would unconditionally love and who would love her in return, but then she had met D’Artagnan and she had realised that her drive to have a child had been one rooted in isolation and unhappiness. When D’Artagnan came into her life she was no longer alone. 

Before they had married they had talked about their family and children, and D’Artagnan had expressed his desire to have a large family that they could guide to make the world a better place. She had admired the sentiment but, with war with Spain looming so close on the horizon, she was scared. She was afraid of losing a child during pregnancy or birth and of D’Artagnan not being there for her, of being left alone as a widow with young children to raise all alone. In light of recent events, she should be glad that D’Artagnan had kissed her and agreed that she was right but seeing Sylvie with her son she couldn’t help feeling somewhat jealous. Sylvie would always have part of Athos alive in their son but she had denied D’Artagnan his wish and now she had lost him entirely.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Raoul having blown a bubble of saliva that popped in her face and she started. Raoul laughed in delight and hid his face again as Constance gently tousled his curls. “We’ll make sure he has no reason to be unhappy.” She said with quiet confidence.

Sylvie dimpled at her and rolled closer, onto her side as Raoul made to grab at her mother’s necklace that she wore around her neck. “I’ll figure it out. I can work and I can bring Raoul with me, or I’m sure Rochelle would help me if I asked her.”

“Sylvie, I’ll help.” Constance said seriously, carefully removing Sylvie’s pendant from Raoul before he put it in his mouth. “We told you, you’re not on your own. And Her Majesty and Aramis won’t let you and Raoul just sink, I’m sure they would help if we don’t find the will.”

“Thank you, but I don’t want to rely on that. I have to be able to provide for my son on my own. I’ll figure it out.” She said not unkindly, kissing Constance’s cheek lightly.

Constance flushed slightly at the kiss. “So long as you know where to come if you need anything. And you’re welcome to stay for as long as you need.”

“I know.” Sylvie paused briefly, removing the pendant from Raoul again. “I suppose there was no luck with the will at the morgue, from what you said.”

“No. It wasn’t on him and it wasn’t in his belongings, from what Porthos said. We’ll keep looking, we just need to figure out the next move.” 

“The logical next place would be the house at Blois.” Sylvie said reluctantly, sighing quietly. “I was hoping to stay away from there for a little longer but it can’t be avoided. Will you come?”

“Of course.” Constance agreed at once, smiling slightly as Raoul changed his interest to her hair and played with a loose tendril of it. She held it so he couldn’t tug too hard. “We can raise it with Porthos and Elodie when they arrive. When are they coming, by the way? I thought they would arrive back with you.”

“Porthos didn’t want to overwhelm you.” Sylvie explained. “He and Elodie are going to spend some time together and then come over in an hour or so. They’ll send a message to Aramis to make sure he comes to the right place for dinner.”

Constance nodded slightly. “When shall we leave for Blois?”

“Aramis told me the funeral is at the end of the week, so we should leave soon after that. That gives us time to prepare for the journey and it gives me some time to steel myself for going back.” She smiled weakly.

“We’ll be there.” Constance reassured her as Raoul let out a whine, crawling across Constance to reach his mum and cuddle up to her. 

“Yes,” Sylvie’s smile grew stronger as she held Raoul close. She looked to Constance. “Thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for, it’s the middle of the afternoon and I’m in my husband’s under clothes in bed. You two have made me smile more than I have since before I heard, I should be thanking you.” Constance said earnestly.

“Can we agree to both be grateful?” Sylvie teased, pressing a kiss to the top of Raoul’s head as he snuggled closer.

“I suppose so.” Constance said warmly, watching the two of them. The next few weeks would be tough but they would be there for each other and they would make it through this. She was sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter's a little shorter because this was very very challenging to write. My personal life's been a bit hectic over the last few weeks and then this chapter was quite heavy in places so motivation was a challenge but here we are! Next chapter they'll be taking a road trip so stick around! Thank you so much for the continued support, all the comments and kudos mean the world to me and thank you so so much for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constance and Sylvie visit the estate at Blois. Sylvie thinks about the life she and Athos were going to have and she and Constance start to think about the future.

The first time Sylvie had seen the house at Blois, she had been overwhelmed. She had seen Athos’ quarters at the garrison and while they were larger than the rooms of the other soldiers in the regiment due to his captaincy, it was nothing compared to this. She had watched as Athos had unlocked the large front door and push it open, how he had taken the dust sheets off the furniture, opened the shutters and proclaimed this now their home if she was happy here. He had laid a fire in the large fireplace and settled on a couch, his arm open for her to sit with him and as she did so she could imagine it - their family here. She could see their child running in from the grounds with muddy boots and flushed cheeks or winter’s evenings spent by the fire. If the house felt cold at the moment, they would fill it with warm memories and it would be their home. She had cuddled up to Athos’ side, tired from the journey but perfectly content to stay. 

 

Standing in the same room now, the chill seeped in with the cold light through the windows. She had forgotten to sweep the hearth before she had left for Paris, she thought absently as she sat down on the couch. Housekeeping hadn’t really been her priority.

 

She had thought she had been doing okay until the funeral. She was hurting, sure, but she was coping. She had the support of her friends and she’d been coping but ever since the funeral it felt different. There was a note of finality to burying him that left her feeling unsteady. She couldn’t sleep well and she knew she must be driving Constance mad as she tossed and turned all night. They still slept together as neither of them could bear to sleep alone and of late it was not unusual to wake with Constance pressed against her side and an arm over her waist. Those moments were a pleasant respite before her brain kicked in and reminded her of the situation that had led to this. 

 

“Raoul’s down to sleep.” 

 

Constance’s voice drew her back to the present and she smiled slightly in acknowledgement.

 

“He was exhausted, poor thing.” She continued, walking around her to the hearth to lay a fresh fire. “The journey was tough on us all but at least he’s sleeping now.” She paused to look up at Sylvie. “Are you alright?”

 

Sylvie nodded, going to help her with the fireplace. “Yes, sorry. It’s odd to be back here.”

 

“I’d imagine so.” Constance said sympathetically, reaching for some logs. “We don’t have to stay long. We’ll take the evening to recover, look for the will tomorrow and then we can head back to Paris the day after that.”

 

Sylvie nodded again and picked up the tinderbox, watching the small flames flicker and catch the edges of the logs. 

 

Constance hesitated. “I ought to go into the village for some food. Would you like to come with me or will you be okay while I’m gone?” 

 

“I’ll be fine. I’ll try to warm the house up a bit.” It didn’t matter if they used up all the firewood over the next few days - she doubted they would be back here after this visit. 

 

Once Constance had left, Sylvie went through to where they had laid Raoul down. She sat down next to him and gently ran her fingers through his curls, smiling softly as he moved towards her touch and settled again. He slept on, unaware of everything that was going on around him. He was too little to understand why everyone was sad and one day she would have to explain to him why his father wasn’t around. That he left them to fight a war for their country and promised to return but never did. 

 

She knew that she shouldn’t really be angry at Athos. He hadn’t gone out to the front with the intention of a suicide mission. He had intended to return - he had promised he would. That was why she was so sure they would find no will. His sense of duty had gotten in the way but they had had plans he had meant to come back to fulfill. 

 

The printing press still sat in the parlour. He had always promised to move it somewhere less in the way but the machine was big and he couldn’t move it by himself so he said ‘Next time my brothers are here, we’ll move it’. But then whenever any of them visited, they would spend so much time enjoying each other’s company that the press would be forgotten. Next time, he would say. 

 

They had been going to educate all of Paris together. With the Queen Regent’s backing, Sylvie had written pamphlets on reading, writing and arithmetic that they would then print and Athos would package to send to Paris. They had distributed the pamphlets to people in the neighbouring villages also with hopes that when Raoul was older they would form some sort of school in their house. Discussions of how they would turn one of the many rooms into a classroom would occupy them for hours and the thought of teaching the children from surrounding villages lead them to thinking about their own family.

 

The evening after Raoul had been born, they had lain in bed together with their baby between them and talked about what his life might be and what the lives of any siblings he may have might be. Even as exhausted as she was, the way Athos spoke of teaching Raoul so many things and the sheer joy in his voice at the prospect of it was infectious and she couldn’t help but join in. While Athos was thrilled with their son, he was delighted by the idea of them one day having a daughter. He expressed how odd this was to him - for so long he had never thought he would know comfort or happiness like this but now here it was and, he said, it would only get better.

 

It was difficult not to cry thinking back to that conversation now.

 

 

 

Later that evening, she sat by the fire feeding Raoul. Constance had returned from the village with bread, mutton and some root vegetables which were cooking over the fire. She now sat on the couch next to Sylvie, her eyes closed and dozing, occasionally starting as the fire popped and hissed before dozing off again. Sylvie reached for the blanket that was thrown over the back of the seat and gently draped it over her. Constance snorted and snuffled awake at the movement, blinking blearily at her.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” She yawned, covering her mouth. She smiled sheepishly. “-fall asleep.”

 

Sylvie shook her head, returning the smile. “Don’t worry, I would have woken you for dinner. You seemed like you could use the rest.”

 

“You need a rest too.” Constance frowned slightly. “What can I do?”

 

“Not much. I’m afraid this one has me occupied for a while.” Sylvie said fondly while looking to her son. “He must be shattered, we’ve been travelling about so much recently.”

 

“It will all settle soon. Once everything’s sorted, we can start to rebuild. Although Heaven help me if I know how.” Constance said quietly, wrapping the blanket around herself. “I suppose we’ll figure it out but currently it seems like a bit of an impossible feat.” She sighed quietly, shaking her head. “Once we find the will, we can figure it out. That comes first.”

 

“You say that as if we’ll definitely find it.” Sylvie reminded her.

 

“You don’t think we will?” Constance frowned.

 

She considered her answer carefully, not wanting to sound too negative as Constance seemed to believe so much that it did exist. “I just don’t think we should hold our hopes out for it. You all seem so sure that he would have left one but him leaving in the first place was spontaneous. He was never so organised that unless he absolutely knew he was going to die he would have written one. Even then, the chances are slim.”

 

“He will have. He loved you and Raoul more than anything in this world, he wouldn't have done anything even slightly dangerous if he didn’t know you would be provided for.” Constance frowned at her. “Surely you know this.”

 

“I don’t know, that’s the point. I can't hang all my hopes on this document that may or may not exist. I need to be making realistic plans because the likelihood is that me and my son have not been left thousands of livres by a man who was still married to another woman, regardless of how much he loved us. Madame de Winter will inherit and Raoul and I will find our way. It’s not like I’ve lived my whole life in luxury to now lose it all.” Sylvie shook her head slightly, lifting Raoul up to her shoulder to burp him as he fussed away from her. “I’m more than capable.”

 

“I know but…” Constance sighed. “You can still be making plans while we find out the truth. You must believe there's a chance, don't you? We wouldn't be here otherwise.” 

 

“We’re here because no one wants to consider that he may have forgotten.” Sylvie said bluntly before shaking her head. “I'm sorry. … I do hope he left something. It would certainly make things easier. If only so I know we were as important to him as I thought we were.” 

 

“We’ll find it.” Constance said firmly, looking to the fire.

 

Sylvie really wanted to believe she was right.

 

 

 

The next day was a taxing one. Combing through desks, bookcases and stacks of letters was monotonous and the later the day grew the more difficult it became to keep looking. In the late afternoon, Raoul became restless and Sylvie wrapped him and herself up warm to walk with him through the grounds. The grass was somewhat overgrown and she treaded carefully as she made her way to the stream at the bottom of the lawn. It was more informal now, many bushes straying onto the path. Athos had decided the garden could wait while they sorted out the house. They’d only just gotten around to cutting the grass. Athos had appealed to local farmers, asking if they would let their livestock graze in their garden rather than either or both of them attempting to scythe it. The estate had been neglected for so long the entire place had desperately needed some TLC. 

 

As they built their life together they had rebuilt this place and given it a life of it’s own again.

 

She turned Raoul in her arms as she sat down on the bank of the small river. She pointed out the way the water skipped over rocks and slipped around plants, and she smiled warmly as he clapped his hands in delight at a frog that jumped out. When he scrunched his eyes up to laugh, he reminded her so much of his father. She had never seen him so happy as after they had left Paris. Prior to their departure, smiles were infrequent and genuine laughter was a rarity, save for the occasional huff of amusement. She hated that he wasn’t here to see these moments with Raoul or that she couldn’t tell him about them. At least his laughter lived on in their son.

 

She shared these moments with Constance now. They had been good friends prior to this but they had grown so much closer over the last few weeks and now she found that while she wanted to tell Athos about all the silly things Raoul did, she also wanted to tell her. Constance had become a rock for her and she knew she was the same to her. They kept each other steady and didn’t let each other sink and she couldn’t be more glad she was there. Waking up wrapped around each other left a warm feeling in her stomach and even moments like earlier when Constance was sleeping and she was feeding Raoul felt important and somehow intimate. Over the last few weeks they had seen each other at their most fragile and they were slowly helping each other put themselves back together. They were a good team.

 

 

Some time later, she re-entered the study after having laid Raoul down for a nap and saw Constance sat in the desk chair reading a letter with her hand over her mouth.

 

“What is it?” She asked concernedly, approaching her quickly.

 

Constance shook her head, pressing her lips together. “It’s nothing, I’m sorry. I’m being silly. It’s just… D’Artagnan wrote this letter to Athos and I could hear him as I read it. After last week… it’s difficult.” 

 

Sylvie perched on the edge of the desk and reached for the hand that covered Constance’s mouth, holding it in her own as she laced their fingers together. “It’s not silly. You weren’t expecting it and, as you say, after last week… May I?” She gestured towards the letter.

 

Constance nodded and handed it over.

 

_“Athos,_

_For goodness sake, man, everyone between here and Marseilles can feel the anxiety rolling off you. Both Sylvie and baby will be fine and we’ll be departing a few days after this letter has been sent to be there for you both. Obviously I am no expert nor is Constance, though I daresay she knows more than I, but Elodie said to try to think about the good that will come from the baby’s arrival rather than the trauma of the actual labour. Her use of the word trauma doesn’t exactly instill hope but Marie-Cessette is here fine and having a staring contest with a dog in the garrison yard as I write. I keep telling Constance we ought to do something about making her a playmate but she tells me not to be silly and pushes me off. I thought women like babies! Nevertheless, we both know you will move Hell and high water to ensure their safety and that you love them more than life itself (and yes, I know you thought I was asleep but I did hear you tell Aramis that). Everything will be fine and we’ll be with you shortly so try not to drive Sylvie completely mad with your pacing before we get there._

_With love,_

_D’Artagnan”_

 

“‘More than life itself.’” Sylvie repeated, reading over the letter again. She had thought she had known that Athos had loved them but the sudden absence and everything that had followed had left her reeling and unsure of that. Seeing this confirmation on paper by one of his brothers reassured her that she hadn’t been manufacturing it all - what they’d had had been real.

 

“That’s why I’m sure he left a will.” Constance said quietly, wiping her eyes with her free hand. “He loved you so much he would not have left your future to chance.”

 

Sylvie nodded unsteadily as she put the letter down. “But if it’s not here, where is it?” 

 

“I don’t know.” Constance admitted, squeezing Sylvie’s hand gently. “But we will find it. We’ll regroup with Aramis and Porthos when we get back to Paris and discuss the next step. Who knows - they may have found it while we’ve been here.”

 

Sylvie stayed quiet, really hoping that was the case. 

 

Constance hesitated for a moment then raised Sylvie’s hand to her lips and kissed it lightly. “And if they haven’t, we’ll keep looking for as long as you want to.” 

 

“And if I want to stop now?” 

 

“Then we’ll stop.” She said simply.

 

Sylvie considered for a moment, glancing at the letter on the desk. She could stop. She and Raoul would be no worse off than they were at the moment and at the moment they were fine; they had each other, they had food, warm clothes, shelter and enough money to last for a little bit. Plus they had Constance, who appeared just as keen to make sure they were safe as she was. But now that she’d seen this letter the little flutter of hope within her had been renewed and she spoke surely.

 

“I’m not ready to quit. Not yet.”

 

Constance smiled warmly. “I didn’t think so.” 

 

 

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Constance said as she removed her corset and skirts to get into bed, “that when we get back to Paris you could work at the garrison with me and Elodie. We could start recruiting women - cause a stir.”

 

“I don’t suppose Her Majesty or the First Minister would mind.” Sylvie added, settling down under the blankets. “I’ve heard they’re quite agreeable.” 

 

“Mm, you might even call them friendly.” Constance turned onto her side, smiling at Sylvie. “I know you don’t like fighting but many of our soldiers could certainly do with learning to apply their brains better. You could teach them, if you wanted. You could live at the garrison, the Crown could pay you a wage that you would be earning so it’s not a handout and you’d get to continue educating people.”

 

The thought was tempting. “As long as I don’t have to shoot anyone.” 

 

“No, no shooting involved. Or stabbing, for that matter.” Constance made a quiet noise as she shifted to get comfortable. “We can set off after breakfast tomorrow and we should be back in Paris by Monday. Hopefully Aramis and Porthos will have some news for us.”

 

“We should assume they haven’t so we don’t waste any time once we’re back.” Sylvie said practically as she tucked her arm around Constance’s waist. At this point, there was no point pretending they weren’t going to end up cuddling anyway. It was one of the things Sylvie looked forward to bed-time for. “Where else might he have left it?”

 

“It would be somewhere safe. Somewhere that no one was likely to just stumble across it. Logically he would leave it with someone but if it’s not in Treville’s old office and neither Aramis or Porthos have it then there’s no one else he would have left it with.” Constance reasoned, shuffling closer. “So it would be at a place, somewhere significant to him.”

 

“The garrison?” Sylvie suggested. “He always called Aramis, Porthos and D’Artagnan his brothers and I know that the garrison was where he truly felt at home.”

 

“Potentially. It’s busy, though. Nothing stays hidden at the garrison for long with all the boys rushing about.” Constance sighed quietly. “He was so private it makes it hard to know where to stop. What about one of his other estates? La Fere? Pinon? Bragelonne?”

 

“But when would he have visited to deposit it? Certainly not in the time I’ve known him. If there’s a will there, Raoul and I won’t be on it.” Sylvie closed her eyes as Constance rested her head against her shoulder. “Why could he not have left a note before he left?”

 

“I wish I knew.” Constance grimaced slightly. “I just wish I could make it all make sense. If we could just figure out what he was thinking, then we could have this all done and dusted and you and Raoul would have security. … It’s just not fair.” She said after a moment.

 

“Which part?” Sylvie asked with a weak chuckle.

 

“All of it.” Constance said emphatically. “It’s not fair that they were taken from us, it’s not fair you’ve been left a single mother, it’s not fair that Milady de Winter gets everything even though she has been nothing but a thorn in Athos’ side for 7 years and even now in his death she just has to keep proving her point - that Athos deserved to suffer. Regardless of what he did to her, he’s gone. Why torment the people that he left behind?”

 

“She never liked me. When she first met me, she assumed I had a master and asked to speak with him then seemed offended when I told her I had none.” Sylvie told her, twisting a lock of Constance’s hair around her finger.

 

“She’s a dreadful woman. I don’t care how much she was hurt, it’s no excuse to go and continue to perpetuate it.” Constance huffed, leaning into Sylvie’s touch. “What sort of person would knowingly leave a small child to starve? Of course, we would never let that happen.” She added quickly. “But she doesn’t know that and she doesn’t care.”

 

“We just have to find the will before her.” Sylvie pressed a kiss to the top of Constance’s head. “Don’t stress. We have to sleep if we want to get back on the road tomorrow.”

 

Constance sighed, smiling weakly at her. “I’m sorry. It just makes me so angry. You deserve nothing but good things and to see her treat you with this amount of disregard.. Well, it makes me want to practice my fencing skills on her.” 

 

Sylvie laughed quietly. “Somehow I don’t think that would make things less complicated.”

 

“Maybe not but at least I’d have the satisfaction.” Constance paused for a moment. “We couldn’t hire an assassin, could we?”

 

“An assassin to assassinate an assassin? No, we can’t.” Sylvie said sternly but she smiled anyway. “I do appreciate it though. You’re going through so much yourself but you’re here with me.”

 

“You say that as if you didn’t comfort me crying over an old letter earlier.” Constance smiled in return. “But of course I’m here. You would do the same for me and I care about you.” She flushed, the redness of her cheeks just visible in the dimming candlelight. 

 

“I care about you too.” Sylvie gave Constance’s waist a light squeeze, half-heartedly hoping Constance wouldn’t notice how her own cheeks heated up. 

 

Constance opened her mouth as if to say something before closing it again and shaking her head, rolling onto her other side with a smile. “Goodnight, Sylvie.”

 

She cuddled up behind Constance and wrapped her other arm around her, settling her head against the pillow. She closed her eyes, trying to not to think too hard about what Constance may have been about to say and how her face was still bright red at their mutual admittance of care for each other. She would think about this in the daylight. The night before a long journey was not the best time for self reflection.

 

“Goodnight, Constance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was wordy. There was a lot of thinking going on in this chapter but hopefully it gave a bit more insight into how things were "supposed" to go for Sylvie, Athos and Raoul. Also Constance and Sylvie are adorable and this pairing gives me life. Things are going to get a bit exciting next chapter - hopefully it will be up sooner as I'm attempting to use NaNoWriMo to motivate me! Thank you so much for reading and to the people who left comments on the last chapter, thank you so so much and my heart goes out to you. Once again, kudos and comments are always welcome!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constance and Sylvie return to Paris and resume their search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter will switch perspectives halfway through but it will be obvious when it does, don't worry.

Raoul was fussing as they arrived back in Paris. They had realised a few days ago that he had begun teething and he was miserable. Sylvie tried to soothe him the best she could with a finger gently applying counter-pressure to his gums but Raoul still wailed and grumbled through most of the day and night. They were all exhausted as they dismounted their horses in the garrison courtyard.

 

“You’re back!” Elodie called, smiling widely as Marie-Cessette rushed forwards to meet them and flung herself at Constance’s legs. 

 

“‘Stance back!” She exclaimed, clinging to Constance’s skirts. Constance smiled widely and lifted her up, hugging her.

 

“Hello, sweetheart, did you miss us?” Constance asked as she hugged Constance tight and nodded her head. 

 

“Yep!” Marie-Cessette buried her face in Constance’s neck for a moment before waving at Sylvie. “Hi.”

 

“Hi.” Sylvie said warmly, still trying to soothe Raoul. “Have you been behaving for your mama?” 

 

“Yep!” She repeated, nodding. Elodie raised an eyebrow at her, smiling nonetheless at her daughter.

 

“I’m not sure that’s true. She’s been very excited that Papa’s home.” She explained, her hands on her hips. “Haven’t you, missy? Now she can run she’s everywhere at once. We have to have several eyes peeled at any one time.”

 

“No.” Marie-Cessette protested, giggling happily. She blinked at Raoul as he let out a disgruntled yell and Sylvie held him close to try and comfort him. “Noisy.” She told Constance seriously. 

 

Elodie looked sympathetically at Sylvie. “Is he teething?”

 

“We haven’t slept properly since we set off from Blois.” Sylvie shushed Raoul with a heavy sigh. “He’s either grumpy or crying, there’s no alternative. Any advice?”

 

“I’m a seasoned professional at teething.” Elodie told her, holding out her arms for Raoul. “I’m sure we can figure out something, can’t we, darling?” She told him and snuggled him close as he whimpered. “Ssh, ssh, I know. We’ll get some chamomile on those gums and it’ll start to feel all better, alright?”

 

“Thank you.” Sylvie said gratefully. “I may lie down for a while if you don’t mind watching him.”

“Not at all. It’s Marie-Cessette’s naptime anyway so I’ll try and calm him down while she’s sleeping.” She smiled. 

 

“No nap, Mama.” Marie-Cessette screwed up her face, looking imploringly to Constance for help. 

 

Constance shook her head as she put her down. “Not a chance, madam or you’ll be cranky later.” 

 

“No nap.” She said despondently, reluctantly taking Elodie’s outstretched hand. 

 

“Yes nap.” Elodie chuckled, raising an eyebrow at her before looking to Constance and Sylvie. “Porthos is at the palace but he’s returning with Aramis soon, I’ll tell them you’ve returned.”

 

 

“Did you have any luck?” Aramis asks the moment he walks in the door, going to embrace Sylvie and Constance in turn.

 

Sylvie shook her head. “No. I take it you didn’t either?”

 

“Not yet.” Porthos shuts the door behind him and goes to kiss each of them on the cheek. “We’re still looking. Treville’s filing was extensive, he served France for so long - we don’t want to miss anything.”

 

Constance ran a hand through her hair, leaning against the counter. She had hoped they might have returned to some good news but it seemed this whole affair was just going to keep dragging on and on. “We only found some personal letters at Blois, nothing that stated Sylvie and Raoul should inherit though. Letters from you two and D’Artagnan, mainly.”

 

“We were trying to think of other places he may have left something.” Sylvie added. “We thought perhaps somewhere here in the garrison. We didn’t think Pinon, La Fere or Bragelonne were likely.” 

 

Constance saw Porthos and Aramis exchange a look and she frowned. “What?”

 

Aramis exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “Madame de Winter has moved into the house at Bragelonne. As the two weeks she quote unquote allowed us to find the will are almost up, she jumped the gun and moved in. To my understanding, the last member of Athos’ family to live there was a childless uncle but when he died when Athos was young the house and title were left to him so it hasn’t been used in a long time but this hasn’t stopped her.”

 

Sylvie looked down and set her jaw. “That bloody woman. Has she no integrity?” 

 

“If she ever had any, it left long before we met her.” Porthos said bitterly. “All we can do now is try and force her out.” 

 

“I’ve told you, we’re not going to forcibly evict her - she hasn’t done anything wrong legally.” Aramis said firmly but his expression was sad. “We have to find the will to prove that the house legally belongs to Sylvie and Raoul. Only then would we have grounds to move against her like that.”

 

“Couldn’t you just arrest her for something else?” Constance asked, her mind whirring. “There’s a laundry list of things she’s done that are definitely illegal, if you arrested her on one of those charges the house would be free.”

 

“We would have to find proof for those too and I highly doubt she leaves any traces. That’s why she’s one of Her Majesty’s spies.” Aramis ran his hand through his hair, obviously stressed. “I can’t arrest her on unsubstantiated claims. I will not be that sort of First Minister.”

 

Constance huffed in irritation. “Aramis, this isn’t about what sort of First Minister you are. You’re the most powerful man in Paris, our friend and her son are being cast aside by a woman with a grudge and you do nothing!”

 

“I am working as hard as I can and I will do everything I can to help, you know that.” Aramis frowned deeply at her. “But I will not become Richelieu or Rochefort just because it suits us in this moment. We will find the will and we will take the house back but all eyes in France are on me and I will not throw a woman who, to them, appears innocent in prison on no grounds.”

 

There was silence for a while until Aramis spoke again. 

 

“I would suggest forging a will but even with my years at the monastery, I’m not sure my penmanship is skilled enough to exactly replicate Athos’ scrawl.”

 

“Besides, if the real will were to show up and Madame de Winter were to find it it would be obvious what had been done.” Sylvie shook her head. “No, I don’t want to lie for the inheritance. If he wanted us to have it then we’ll have it but I won’t steal from the man I love.”

 

Constance frowned slightly and reached for Sylvie’s hand where she sat. “Sylvie… You know he would have wanted you to have it.”

 

“No. I don’t.” Sylvie said, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. “I can think and hope that he would have wanted us to have it but I don’t know that because we don’t have the will. I need security. _We_ need security. Now I will fight tooth and nail for that inheritance if he intended for us to have it but I won’t take it if he didn’t explicitly want us to.” 

 

Another silence fell and Constance didn’t know what to suggest. She didn’t like the idea of forging Athos’ will but in the time she had known Athos, she knew he would not have wanted the people he loved to go uncared for. Sylvie was only telling herself this so as not to get her hopes up and while she usually admired her for her pragmatic yet hopeful view of life, Constance needed her to be more optimistic. If she began to truly believe Athos had left anything, she would want to stop looking but she, Aramis and Porthos knew that the will had to exist.

 

“Constance said there may be a job with a salary here at the garrison. Educating our soldiers, that sort of thing. Is that true?” Sylvie asked, looking to Aramis.

 

“It certainly could be.” Aramis confirmed. “As a tutor of sorts?”

 

“That was my thinking, yes.” Constance explained. “Sylvie said she would be looking for work and where better than here?”

 

“I’ll draw up the paperwork once I’m back at the palace. If I run it by any other staff they may say more staff at the garrison is unnecessary but this I am willing to abuse my position somewhat for.” Aramis smiled at Sylvie. “We’ll keep looking but we’ll keep you both safe, don’t worry.” 

 

Sylvie nodded slightly. “So where do we look next?”

 

“I don’t think the garrison is a bad shout. The office was Athos’ at one point, he may have left it there.” Porthos suggested, looking to Constance. “Unless you’d rather we left it given that it was D’Artagnan’s last.”

 

“I’d been using it for weeks after he left. If you’re thinking of preservation of what D’Artagnan left behind, any chance of that is long gone.” Constance smiled weakly. “The office is a good idea. We’ll start there.”

 

 

“Did you husband have any form of organisational system?” Aramis huffed as he leafed through stacks of paper, scanning everything to make sure they missed nothing.

 

“You met him,” Constance raised an eyebrow at him from behind the desk, “Do you think he ever planned anything before he became Captain?”

 

“You make an excellent point.” He conceded, sighing. “But he’s hardly made our life easy.”

 

Constance didn’t reply as she read through letters. Most of it was orders from the palace or personal correspondence all mixed into the same pile but she couldn’t help smiling to herself at how D’Artagnan the whole thing was. She was so fondly reminded of the rash young man who’d gone to Paris to avenge his father and ended up instantly in trouble. He never slowed down, never stopped to think and while it had been irritating at times, it had been so much an integral part of his personality she couldn’t help but love it. Even now when some sort of system would be a godsend.

 

“Take it up with him.” She said offhandedly, opening the desk drawers to see if there was anything of any help in there. She missed the look of concern Porthos and Sylvie shared over her head. She took out a stack of letters and started sifting through them, pausing when she came across a still sealed envelope. She turned it over to look for an addressee and frowned slightly.

 

“Sylvie, there’s a letter for Athos.”

 

Sylvie frowned and reached out for it, opening the seal. She scanned it, her frown deepening. She read a few more lines before shaking her head as she held it out to her. “You should read this.” 

 

_‘I declare that this is my, Charles de Batz-Castlemore d’Artagnan, last will and testament.’_

 

Constance set it down on the desk and closed her eyes, counting to ten internally. She hadn’t thought she would have to deal with this. She had assumed D’Artagnan had known what was his would become hers and had therefore not bother with the formality. Surprise reminders like this would do her no good.

 

“Do you need me to read it?” Sylvie asked carefully.

 

“What is it?” Aramis furrows his brow as Constance nods.

 

“D’Artagnan’s will.” 

 

Aramis sat slowly on a chest and reached for Porthos’ hand, which he held tightly as Sylvie began to read;

 

_“The executor of my will is to be Olivier d’Athos de la Fere. To him, I bequeath my sword. With it, I came to Paris with the intention to kill him and instead I found a brother and lifelong friend.”_

 

The mention of Athos clearly threw Sylvie and she took a moment to steady herself before continuing.

 

_“To Porthos du Vallon, I bequeath my pauldron. It was he who scored the first mark on it and without his guidance and friendship I would not have earnt it.”_

 

Porthos squeezed his eyes shut. Aramis pressed his hand tight and pressed a kiss to it at he watched him. “Porthos?” He asked quietly.

 

“We don’t have them. We cut them up.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“We cut them up. When we were at the front we needed bracers so we cut up our pauldrons and tied them around our forearms. That’s why we had to get new ones when we returned.” Porthos explained, wiping at his eyes with his free hand. “He might have bought the pieces back with him but it’s not a pauldron anymore.”

 

“I still have the pieces.” Constance confirmed, smiling weakly at him. “I’ll find them for you.”

 

Porthos nodded his thanks. “He knew how much brotherhood meant to me.”

 

_“To Aramis d’Herblay, I bequeath my pistols. He never used to stop telling me how I needed some better ones so now he can have them to torment him with their mediocrity.”_

 

Aramis couldn’t help his shaky chuckle; “How he ever made a straight shot with those things I will never know.”

 

_“And finally to Constance D’Artagnan, my darling wife, I have little else to give. If my land in Gascony still remains, it is yours but if not then my eternal love will have to suffice. I hope I have made you happy and that you may find happiness again someday.”_

 

Sylvie lowered the papers.

 

“He then goes into some formalities about the division of his money; some to the poor, some to the garrison but most to you.” She told Constance, approaching her where she sat with tears rolling down her face. She took her hand and wiped away her tears, speaking softly. “No tears, hm? Let’s be glad we found it.”

 

Constance sniffed. “I am glad. It’s just overwhelming. I keep getting surprised by him - his writing will show up or I’ll find something of his and it always knocks me sideways.”

 

“It’s a period of adjustment.” Aramis looked at his, still holding Porthos’ hand. “Seemingly innocuous things bring up memories and then we have to take a moment.”

 

Constance knew he was right. This feeling would pass, of every little thing reminding her of her husband, but for now it was causing her intense discomfort. She had mourned before but this was so different to her past experiences she had little to draw on for how to move forwards. She no longer cried all the time but still little things like D’Artagnan’s handwriting could set her off and she longed for the day when that would no longer be the case. 

 

She stood slowly. “I’m sorry but I need some time alone. I’ll return later but I just need…” She trailed off, unsure what it was she needed.

 

“That’s absolutely fine. Do you need me to come with you?” Sylvie asked, squeezing her hand lightly in parting as Constance let go.

 

“No, I’ll be fine.” Constance smiled faintly at the three of them. “I’ll see you later.”

 

 

 

Sylvie was worried. Of course Constance would be finding this hard, she was too, but the way Constance went back and forth between seeming fine and then being very definitely not fine concerned her. She seemed to spend so much time trying to keep other people afloat that she herself was sinking and barely noticing. Sylvie knew that she, Aramis and Porthos were grateful for Constance’s support but they wished she would reach out to them more. They were all worried. Porthos had theorised after she had left that her need to take care of other people was distracting her from her own pain and that she was trying to move through it without really dealing with it. Aramis had pointed out that burying oneself in work doesn’t actually allow for being able to process things healthily and Porthos had called him a hypocrite. 

 

She needed to talk to Constance. Aramis was right - this couldn’t be healthy and she didn’t want her to end up doing some permanent damage to herself by refusing help now. She filed the papers back away and said goodbye to Aramis and Porthos as she explained where she was going - she had given Constance some time but now she needed to talk to her.

 

She opened the door to the office and began to head down the stairs, her heart stopping briefly as an unwelcome sight greeted her. Standing at the foot of the stairs, Madame de Winter smiled.

 

“I knocked downstairs but there was no answer. I was beginning to think I was being ignored.” She said sweetly.

 

“Can I help you?” Sylvie asked, fighting to keep her voice and face perfectly neutral. This was the last thing she needed.

 

“I came by to check on your progress. I had thought that if a will had been found I would have heard but it never hurts to be sure.” Milady tilted her head with a disingenuously sympathetic look on her face. “I take it you’ve had no such discovery?”

 

“We’ve had plenty of discoveries.” Sylvie folded her arms, her blood boiling at the sickeningly false tone of voice. “Such as you breaking the terms of your agreement with the First Minister and moving into Athos’ property before the given time period.”

 

“I don’t believe that agreement was ever formalised.” Milady said simply. “The property was my husband’s and now it is mine - there is nothing that contradicts this.”

 

“If you’re so sure there is no will, why not wait out the two weeks? You had lodgings, I presume, what was wrong with those?” Sylvie frowned deeply.

 

“Why should a comtesse live in two rooms when she may have a dozen?” Milady chuckled and shook her head, her tone condescending. “My darling, I can see that my late husband blinded you the way that he once did me. He let you believe that to him you were worth the sun and the moon and all the jewels on Earth, and that he would never stop fighting for you. He let you think you could have this idyllic life together. Hell, you even had a child as if that would guarantee that the fairytale he told you to dream of.

 

But he abandoned you, just as he did me. He would tell himself that it was for honour but what is honour when you’re cold in the ground. He lived to regret trying to break me and now I can take what he owed me.”

 

“He owed you nothing.” Sylvie gritted her teeth. 

 

“Or perhaps it wasn’t the fairytale you were after. Perhaps it was just the castle.” Milady said softly. “But at the end of the day, I suppose it doesn’t matter.” she climbed a few stairs so she was directly in front of Sylvie, “I will always be the wife and you were only the mistress.”

 

Rage momentarily blinded Sylvie and she hit out, striking her across the cheek as Milady stumbled backwards down the stairs and fell onto her backside. Hearing her talk like that - telling her she was naive for falling in love with Athos and that he had been lying when he said he returned her love, talking about Raoul as if he had somehow been a tool for her to cement a wealthy partner - left her beyond furious. A red mark was already blooming across her face where she had hit and Sylvie watched as Milady pushed herself to her feet with fury in her eyes. She dusted herself off, glowering at Sylvie.

 

“It is not my fault that you won’t accept it, my dear.” 

 

“Even if I was ‘just the mistress’, who was it that he chose?” 

 

Sylvie couldn’t help the smug smile on her face as Milady floundered for words and turned on her heel. She had torn one of her skirts in the fall and Sylvie could take some satisfaction in that as she left the garrison. The jangle of a door drew her attention and she met Constance’s eyes as she stepped through the door to her apartments.

 

“Was that Madame de Winter?” Constance frowned deeply as she watched her retreat.

 

Sylvie nodded, exhaling slowly as she calmed down. “She came to gloat that we haven’t found Athos’ will.”

 

“That bloody woman, does she have nothing better to do…” Constance huffed. “Are you okay?”

 

“I think so.” Sylvie smiled shakily. “She tried to remind me I was ‘just the mistress’ and that Raoul and I surely meant nothing to him. So I punched her.”

 

Constance’s eyes widened before she grinned. “Really? I’m sorry I missed that, I bet her face was a work of art.” 

 

Sylvie shook her head. “I don’t take pride in violence but she was attacking me, my son and Athos’ memory and I wasn’t going to just stand there and take it.”

 

“Of course you weren’t.” Constance agreed and took her hand.

 

Sylvie squeezed her hand gently. “I was coming down to see how you’re doing before I was sidetracked.”

 

Constance smiled slightly, shaking her head. “I’m okay. I just needed some room to breath, you know? It was a surprise to find D’Artagnan’s will and I needed to get my head back on straight again.” She frowned slightly, looking down at Sylvie’s hand before reaching up to touch her arm gently. “You’re shaking.”

 

“It’ll pass.” Sylvie tried to reassure her, somewhat distracted by the way Constance’s hand ran up and down her arm. 

 

“What can I do?”

 

“I mean, this is nice.” Sylvie said weakly, squeezing her hand. “So more of this?”

 

“I think I can manage that.” Constance smiled. There was a warmth to her expression that Sylvie had come to associate with when they were cuddled together. 

 

There was a moment of stillness before Constance’s lips met hers. As unexpected as it was, Sylvie relaxed into the kiss and brought her hand up to rest on Constance’s waist. Her head buzzed with thoughts but she pushed them away as Constance’s lips gently pushed hers apart into another kiss. 

 

“Is this okay?” Constance asked quietly, her voice hopeful as she rested their foreheads together.

 

Sylvie took a moment to catch her breath and nodded slowly. “Yes, this is… This is lovely but I think we maybe ought to stop.” 

 

Constance flushed darkly, seeming to only just remember they were in the middle of the thankfully quiet garrison courtyard. “Potentially. … You’re not shaking anymore.” She noted, a smile on her face.

 

“So I have.” Sylvie took a step back, returning the smile. “Apparently you’re magical.”

 

“D’Artagnan used to say that.” Constance’s smile froze then faded and she let go of Sylvie’s hand. 

 

“Constance?” 

 

“I’m sorry, I just- it’s too soon, I shouldn’t have done that.” Constance said apologetically, fidgeting anxiously with her skirts.

 

“No, I- you don’t need to apologise.” The bubble that had swelled in Sylvie’s chest burst and she shook her head. For a blissful moment, Sylvie’s concerns had left her mind and she had found herself hoping that maybe Constance had felt that too - like in that moment they were the only two people who existed. She understood Constance’s reasons, it was likely that in a few hours she would be feeling the same way, but it hurt especially after Constance had been the one to initiate.

 

Constance nodded slightly, her eyes flickering to the door to the office. “I should go and help Aramis and Porthos.”

 

“Don’t you need any more time?” Sylvie asked.

 

“No. No, I’m fine.”

 

Sylvie watched as she headed back upstairs and covered her face with her hands.

 

What a fucking mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constance and Sylvie sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. What can I say? Shit happened in this chapter. Thank you for your continued support!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constance and Sylvie do some thinking with a little help from their friends and come to a decision.

Sylvie and Porthos had left for Pinon a few days ago. They had gone to investigate the ruins of Athos’ childhood home. It had been a shaky idea but it was the only idea they had so they’d had to check - just in case. Aramis hadn’t been able to go, too caught up with bureaucracy and court to be able to excuse himself for the long journey. Constance had insisted she had to stay and try to plan on how to rebuild the garrison yet again. She knew Sylvie had been disappointed she couldn’t go but, she figured, she had Porthos and she would be fine. She and Elodie had plenty to do at the garrison and she had an appointment with the Queen that morning.

It wasn’t that Constance was actively trying not to spend time alone with Sylvie. She wasn’t - time alone together was lovely but that was the problem. As soon as conversation lulled she would think back to their kisses in the courtyard and then she would want to kiss her again. And yet every time _that_ thought arose, she thought of D’Artagnan and then she was frozen. D’Artagnan had said he wanted her to be happy again some day but surely he didn’t mean mere weeks after his death. 

It was with these thoughts heavy on her mind that she made her way to the palace.

 

“Constance.”

Constance turned to see Anne approaching her with a wide smile and wider arms, Aramis following closely behind. She let herself be embraced, squeezing Anne’s waist as she pulled away. “Thank you for seeing me.” 

“Nonsense.” Now it was Aramis’ turn to hug her, drawing her close. “I don’t know why you insist on making appointments still, you know we’ll always make time for you.”

“Because if I didn’t, you’d never know I was here as no one would tell you,” Constance reminded him, unable to help her smile. It was so Aramis, to assume everyone else would know how important his friends are and how they rank higher in priority than most other things. 

“You used to work here, I’m sure they’d let you in,” Anne said simply, as if it were solved. She took Constance’s arm, squeezing it as she led the way back to her quarters where the three of them would have some privacy. “Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

Constance stayed quiet for a moment, considering her response as she sat down. She hadn’t expected to get to the root of the matter so early; she had expected at least a bit of small talk, discussion of the goings on at the palace or how quickly little Louis was growing up. Anne’s direct question threw her slightly. “There is. I thought you might be the right people to come to.” She looked at Aramis as he set about pouring wine for each of them. 

“We’re the right people for quite a lot of things, apparently,” he said with an easy smile as he handed out glasses then sat next to Anne. “I’m assuming this isn’t an affair of official importance? Otherwise I would have worn my ‘important state business’ doublet.”

Anne raised a fond eyebrow at him. “Minister, must you insist on calling it that?”

His smile only widened as he took a sip. “Your Majesty, you know I live to serve France and the Crown. However, on this matter, I will not be moved - to dub the doublet as anything other than important, stately and businesslike would be to do it a disservice.”

Constance watched their back-and-forth, smiling to herself as she sipped her wine. How lovely it was to see them be so easy with each other. Heaven knew they deserved it; they’d been through enough trouble that these moments away from prying eyes were sacred and truly joyful. “You both know something of loving someone but feeling like you can’t.”

Her words drew Anne and Aramis’ attention back to her and Anne flushed slightly. 

“I think you know the answer to that.” She told Constance gently, glancing at Aramis. “Why?”

“Well, I--”

“This wouldn’t be to do with the fact you and Sylvie can’t keep your eyes off each other, is it?”

Constance stared at Aramis. “How did you know?”

He shrugged, taking another sip from his glass. “I’ve been told from time to time I’m about as subtle as a brick to the face. You and Sylvie are close to catching up to me, in that department.”

Constance went as red as the wine. “Are we that bad?”

“Not _quite_ that bad,” Anne reassured her, “but once Aramis had pointed it out, it was quite hard to ignore.”

Constance grimaced slightly. She was sure that neither she or Sylvie had intended to be quite so obvious, especially given the circumstances. “We kissed.”

“I had wondered what had happened between you two - you’ve seemed distant from each other,” Aramis admitted, frowning slightly, “but why is this a bad thing? If you both have feelings, surely you can only move forwards.”

“You ran away to a monastery because of your feelings,” Anne reminded him with an amused look on her face. “Is this a case of ‘do as I say, not as I do’?”

“I’m learning from my mistakes,” he told her, taking her hand. “We were miserable for years, I wouldn’t want our friends to suffer the way we did.” 

“We suffered because I was married to the King of France.” Anne squeezed his hand before looking to her friend sympathetically. “Constance and Sylvie’s difficulties are somewhat different, I imagine.” 

Constance smiled weakly. “It just feels too soon. Everything has happened so fast in the last few months.. It feels like I shouldn’t forget D’Artagnan yet. And I know Sylvie hasn’t forgotten Athos, especially with this whole mess with the will. Not to mention the fact that we’re both women, which has the potential to cause us no end of trouble. It feels like too much.” 

“When Marie de Rohan and I were lovers, I don’t believe anyone noticed, except for potentially her first husband but he was too busy in the late King’s bed to do anything about it.” Anne said delicately, taking a sip of wine. “People will go to great lengths to explain intimacy between women as nothing more than platonic, I’ve found.”

“Didn’t your husband exile her?” Aramis frowned slightly.

“Not because she satisfied me more than he could.” Anne shrugged daintily. “My point is that the both of you being women shouldn’t be a primary concern.” She addressed Constance with a smile. “Don’t think about other people, just focus on the both of you.”

“While I agree with Ana in sentiment, in terms of practicality I have to offer different advice.” Aramis said, his tone serious. “I do not believe you should have to hide your affections, in fact nothing would make me happier than to see you be open with them. However, I do believe that people are willing to turn a blind eye for the Queen of France more so than they are the widows of musketeers. This is not to say you should bury your feelings, only be cautious about how you practice them. Marsac and I had more than a few close encounters that probably shaved a few years off both our lives.”

“Marsac?” Constance couldn’t hide the look of contempt that crossed her face at the name.

“He was a different man when I first loved him.” Aramis said quietly. “Savoy broke him long before you met. My point remains true - love deeply and honestly, but with each other. There is no reason you should let the rest of the world beat you down for it.” 

Constance stayed quiet for a moment, contemplating as she set her now empty glass down. “There’s still D’Artagnan and Athos to think of.” She said eventually. “It doesn’t feel like enough time has passed to move on.”

“Is it moving on?” Anne asked. “I don’t believe I know a single person who would assume that new love meant you no longer loved D’Artagnan, or Sylvie Athos.”

“I would.” She looks down at her lap. “I know it sounds ridiculous but any time something reminds me of him, it gets too much and I bail.” She exhaled slowly. “I know he told me he wanted me to be happy again in his will but being with someone else feels like I’m betraying him, or his memory, and I don’t want that to be hanging over us.”

Anne set her own glass down with a serious look on her face. “Constance, honestly - how do you feel about her? Because I think that’s what you need to focus on.”

How _did_ she feel about her? She took a deep breath. “She’s one of my closest friends. Being with her feels safe. And... when she looks at me and she smiles,” she sighed, “I never want to look away.”

“So tell her that.” Aramis smiled softly. “You don’t have to make any grand life plans with her, just tell her how you feel and the rest will follow. The D’Artagnan I knew would have done anything for you to be happy, and I can only imagine he’d be kicking himself if he thought he was holding you back.”

“Moving forwards doesn’t mean you have to forget.” Anne agreed. “It only means you begin to accept.”

 

“I just have Raoul to think about, you know?” Sylvie finished, glancing over at Porthos. She looked out across the hills ahead, Paris a welcome sight in the distance. The last few days had been nothing if not draining and the both of them were eager to get home. Pinon had been a waste of time - this much had been obvious as soon as they’d arrived but given they’d made the trip, they felt obliged to look. Now, on the home stretch, their talk had turned to home and the people there and in her tired state, Sylvie had found herself telling Porthos about her feelings for Constance.

Porthos nodded slowly, looking out towards the city. “Have you two talked about this? Since the courtyard?” 

Sylvie shook her head. “She said she couldn’t do it because she was reminded of D’Artagnan, I didn’t want to push her. Is bringing it up too pushy?”

“No, not to bring it up.” Porthos shrugged a shoulder. “It would be if you just decided to kiss her again with no warning but the worst that could happen with you talking about it is you agree to put it to the side and forget about it but it could be good. You two just need to communicate - I swear you’re are worse than Aramis.” He grinned slightly at her.

“We’re not that bad.” She laughed, shaking her head. Raoul snuffled and burrowed against her chest and she ran a hand over his head and kissed his forehead gently. “I just need to not do anything that’ll throw this little man’s life about any more than is has been already.” 

“Which is why you need to talk about it.” Porthos reminded her. “Kids need stability but Constance is solid and you know she’d do anything for you both. You just need to make sure you’re both on the same page.”

Sylvie nodded, smiling faintly. 

She thought back to when she first arrived back in Paris after Athos’ death. Although Constance had been suffering too, she had made sure that she and Raoul were taken care of before letting herself sink into her grief and consistently since, to the point where Sylvie had had to remind her to look after herself too. Constance’s constant companionship had been a great source of comfort and the feelings that had blossomed, while unexpected, were not unwelcome. They made it easier for her to not feel so alone going forwards. It had been very easy for her to become overwhelmed over the last few weeks but, as Porthos said, Constance was solid - she helped her feel grounded again when it all got too much.

“I still love Athos.”

“Of course you do,” Porthos said gently, looking down briefly. “None of us will be able to forget loving him quickly. But that doesn’t mean you can’t love others too.”

“Would he have thought the same?” Sylvie asked, glancing over at him.

“I’m certain of it.” Porthos said firmly. “He loved many people throughout his life, myself and Aramis being primary examples. Does this mean he didn’t love you? Of course not.” He quieted for a moment as they rode across the bridge into the city. “Aramis has often spoken of the heart being a multifaceted thing and I have to agree. I can’t think of a time in my life when I have solely loved one person - I doubt many can.” He smiled at her. “Every love is different, that doesn’t make any less special.”

She nodded slowly. “I have to talk to her when we get back to the garrison. Even if we decide to not pursue it, I have to try.”

Porthos smiled supportively. “For what it’s worth, I think you two would be excellent together.” He paused briefly. “You should come over for dinner this evening, the both of you. Then if it goes well, we can celebrate and if it doesn’t, you have something to look forward to.”

“Thank you,” Sylvie smiled back. “I’ll pass it on to Constance.”

Porthos nodded, slowing his horse down as they neared the garrison. “Just try not to stress too much about talking to her and you’ll be fine. Good luck.”

 

“You’re back!” Constance exclaimed, carefully setting down the sword she’d been sharpening as Sylvie entered the armoury. 

Sylvie nodded. “Elodie told me that I might find you here.” She smiled slightly. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Other than sit down because you’ve had a long journey? No, I can’t think of anything.” Constance’s returning smile only widened as Sylvie rolled her eyes and sat on a stool. “Where’s Raoul?”

“Marie-Cessette missed him and he’d just woken up from his nap so Porthos is watching them play.” She said fondly. “They’ve really taken to each other.”

“That’s so sweet.” Constance laughed quietly. “I take it you didn’t have much luck in Pinon?”

“No.” Sylvie sighed, crossing her ankles. “It was a long shot anyway. Were you productive, at least?”

“Somewhat.” Constance put the sword back on the rack. “Elodie and I came up with some recruitment ideas and I wrote to Captain D’Essart who’s agreed to send a number of his regiment to the front until we can build up the Musketeers’ and the army’s ranks again. We’re making progress, it’s just slow. I’ve been making sure we can supply the men when the numbers start to pick up again.”

“They ought to make you Captain.” Sylvie told her with a smile. “You’ve been doing the job long enough and I’m sure Aramis would approve your position.”

“While I’m sure he would, I’m not sure the rest of the court would agree. A woman, as the Captain of the Musketeers? They’d call him mad and petition both mine and his removal.” Constance smiled weakly. “Still, it’s a nice dream.”

“You have to aim high.” Sylvie reminded her. “No one else is going to do it for you so you have to be the one to make it happen.”

“That assumes I would want the job.” Constance grimaced. “While I can shoot and wield a sword, I’m not sure I’d fancy going to war. I’ve seen enough bloodshed for my lifetime. No, I’ll stick to managing things here, training the boys but I wouldn’t want to join them. Not now.”

A silence fell between the two women as Constance went back to checking the blades for dents. Sylvie fidgeted with her pendant, trying to figure out what to say; how to bring up the kiss without making things awkward again.

“About the other day--”

“Sylvie, I’ve been meaning to--” 

They laughed as they spoke over each other, Constance gesturing to Sylvie.

“You first.”

Sylvie smiled, exhaling. “Right. ... I wanted to talk to you about the other day in the courtyard.”

“I wanted to talk about that too.” Constance smiled slightly in return.

“How you feel about it?” Sylvie said slowly, meeting her eyes. “About what happened? Everything seemed fine and then you ran.”

The tension was palpable as Constance gathered her thoughts and words. She’d hoped to ask questions first to give her time to conjure up her own responses but now she had to say something. “I…” She hesitated. “It was nice. Better than nice; it was lovely. I just started thinking about D’Artagnan, it got too much and I didn’t give you a good enough explanation, and I’m sorry for that.”

Sylvie shook her head. “I understand. You don’t have to be sorry.” 

“But I do. I should have given you a better explanation at the time. It wasn’t fair, especially after _I_ kissed _you_.” Constance smiled weakly. “I spoke to Anne and Aramis about it and they got me thinking that, well… My loving D’Artagnan and his memory doesn’t negate how I feel about you.”

Sylvie was sure her heart was going to beat out of her chest. “I had a very similar conversation with Porthos - he said there’s no reason why I shouldn’t love more than one person at a time. Athos did. It would be odd to not let myself love you as well as him, especially given Athos’ philosophy’s on it.”

Constance felt her cheeks heating up. “You love me?”

“I could.” Sylvie smiled softly, looking at Constance. “It would be very easy to. As of right now, I know I care about you a great deal and I know that will continue. If you’ll have me.”

Constance couldn’t stop herself smiling. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Is that a yes?” Sylvie asked hopefully. “We’re going to try to make this work?”

Constance nodded, beaming at her. “We’re going to try. Now, please, can I kiss you?” 

Sylvie laughed and stood, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “Of course.” Constance’s arms came up to rest around her neck and she lay her hands on her waist with a warm smile. “I’m not suggesting this will be easy-”

“-but nothing that’s worthwhile ever is.” Constance finished, standing on her tiptoes to kiss her deeply.

The world seemed to melt away, the only things that existed were Sylvie, Constance and the pillar Constance had quickly pressed Sylvie up against. Eventually, somewhat breathless and her hand in Constance’s hair, Sylvie spoke again.

“Porthos invited us for dinner this evening, we shouldn’t be late.”

Constance kissed her again, grinning at Sylvie’s relaxed smile.

 

“They’ll have to wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand we're back with a solid dose of feelings. Wasn't that cute? How's everyone been? I hope you've been doing well. So I'd like to apologise for my absence (if you've been reading Snap! you'll have an idea of what's been going on) and I promise a healthy helping of Porthos in the next chapter because he's a darling and, without too many spoilers, he's going to have a bit of a dilemma. Thank you so much for your continuing support and I hope you all enjoyed!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos has some thinking to do and a difficult decision to make.

Porthos’ brow was furrowed as he helped Marie-Cessette with her breakfast. Not that the task of making sure she didn’t cover herself entirely with porridge was especially taxing but his mind was elsewhere, and had been for days. The last letter from the front had him concerned and, although he had responded quickly, it still bothered him. 

He needed to be here. His family needed him. Marie-Cesette was only just getting used to him being around again and he knew how important this time they had together was. She had grown so much since he’d last seen her and how she cried every time he left again after being back on leave broke his heart.

And then there was Elodie.

They had been through so much together that he knew they would survive the time apart but still he missed her. Letters weren’t enough really, though he would take them in a heartbeat over not hearing from her at all while he was away. And yet over the period he’d been back in Paris, he’d grown very used to waking up and falling asleep next to her; to going out with her during the day and coming home to her in the evenings; to spending time as a family. 

As a child, he’d spied other children running down the street alongside their parents and envied them. Even then he’d been confident that if he ever had a family, they would not be abandoned the way his father had he and his mother. He knew now that he was a better man than his father could have ever been but the determination to be there for his wife and child remained, and he often found himself wishing the war would end simply so he could go home and stay home. 

And still he worried about his boys at the front and he knew he had to go back. 

The sooner they could win - the sooner they could end this - then the sooner he could be back home permanently. But in Paris he was working from days old information and he was concerned that with him so far removed there would be unnecessary loss of life through poor communication. 

He had to go and speak with Aramis about ending his leave and returning.

He sighed, blinking back to reality as Marie-Cesette patted his face. 

“Papa.” She frowned at him, patting his cheek insistently. “No sad, papa.”

Porthos smiled slightly and pressed a kiss to her hand. “I’m not sad, sweetheart. Don’t worry about Papa.”

“But…” She poked the lines on his forehead and between his eyes. “Sad?”

“Not sad.” His smile grew minutely. “Just frustrated. Papa has a very important job but I also want to be here with you and Mama.”

Marie-Cesette frowned herself, folding her arms in front of her to rest her head on them. “Stay.” She told him, tilting her head to look at him. “Stay, please.” 

“I want to.” He told her, pushing his chair back from the table slightly so he had room to lift her onto his lap and he smiled as she tightly wrapped her little arms around him. “Until I have to go back.”

“No. Forever.” She mumbled into his collar and it broke his heart a little as he slowly rubbed her back, holding her close.

“When the war is over, I’ll be back for good.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I promise.”

“Promise promise?” She asked, pulling away to look at him seriously. 

“Promise promise.” He said sincerely, unable to help himself beaming as she bumped her face against the side of his in an approximation of a kiss. “You won’t be able to get rid of me.” 

“And we wouldn’t want to.” Elodie said from the doorway, smiling softly at the scene. She came to sit down at the table, planting a kiss on Marie-Cesette’s cheek as she went. “What are we ‘promise promising’?” 

“That I’ll be back forever after the war is over.” He tells her, helping the toddler settle in his lap. He doesn’t miss the slight shadow that falls across her face at the mention of it and he reaches for her hand. A smile flickers onto her face as she rubs her thumb over his knuckles. “It won’t be long now.” He pauses. “We did know I wouldn’t be back forever this time.”

“I had hoped we might have a bit more time than this. Given everything…” Elodie looked down, her free arm tightening around her middle, then back up to meet his eyes with a small smile on her face. “But it’ll never be enough, will it? Not til you’re back with us for good.” 

“No.” He agreed, squeezing Marie-Cesette gently as she curled into his shoulder. “So we’ll make the most of what we do have, yeah? And then I’ll be back again before you know it.”

Elodie nodded. He knew how hard she was trying to hold it together for Marie-Cesette. Last night when he’d told her his thoughts about returning to the front, they’d held each other and hoped that this time would be the last time they would have to go through this again. 

He couldn’t imagine how worried she must be. The last time men had been deployed, both Constance and Sylvie had lost the men they loved and she must be scared he would be next. The only comfort he could give her was that as general it was rare he was in the thick of battle himself. No matter how much this frequently frustrated him, he wouldn’t take that away from her. She had lost one husband to this war and he would not have her lose another.

She stood and kissed him gently. “Marie-Cesette and Raoul are playing at Constance’s later. Come by after you’ve finished with Aramis?”

“Of course.” He said, reluctantly letting go of her hand. “I shouldn’t be long.”

“You always say that.” Elodie reminded him fondly as she went to wash up Marie-Cesette’s bowl and spoon. “Yet with Aramis, somehow that never happens.”

“We’re brothers.” Porthos said simply, dimpling at his daughter as she poked at his cheek again. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“‘Mis coming, yes?” She asked eagerly. Porthos and Elodie shared a grin over her head.

“Maybe, we’ll see. He’s very busy.” He told her, sticking his tongue out as she poked him again, laughing as she copied him. He set her down and crouched in front of her, fondly wiping the remnants of porridge from her cheeks. “You be good for Mama today while I’m seeing Uncle Aramis, okay?” 

She nodded, beaming toothily at him. “I’m be good.”

“Good girl.” He stands again, smiling fondly as she runs to climb up on the stool next to Elodie, to whom he blows a kiss. “See you at Constance’s.”

 

“Porthos! Come in.” Aramis exclaimed, a warm smile on his face as he stood up from behind his desk and went to greet him with a tight hug. He squeezed him before stepping back. “Sit down, please. I’m afraid I’m going to have to keep writing as we talk so you’ll have to bear with me. The treasurer called a meeting for this afternoon last minute, which can only mean bad news, but still.” He seated himself back behind his desk and gestured to an empty chair. “How are you? How are Elodie and Marie-Cesette?”

“We’re good.” Porthos smiled, grateful that they might talk about something else before the unpleasantries. “Marie-Cesette is getting smarter each day. She’s not on full sentences yet but she’s making a valiant attempt. Next thing we know, she’ll be following in her uncle’s footsteps and writing poems.”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve written any poetry, my friend.” Aramis laughed, shaking his head. “She’s a bright girl and you know I’d be more than happy to tutor her when she’s old enough.”

“When were you planning to fit that in?” Porthos raised an eyebrow at the piles of papers on his friend’s desk. “Between the urgent meetings and enough paperwork to keep several bonfires going for weeks?”

“I will always find time for family.” Aramis told him sincerely and Porthos smiled fondly. “You know that that has always been true. Besides, it wouldn’t do for the General’s daughter to be uneducated, would it? Not that I believe either of you two would let her be so, but I would be honoured to take some part in her education myself.”

“I know you would.” Porthos leaned back in his chair with a smile. “I’ll pose it to Elodie. I know she had been talking with Sylvie about teaching the little ones together, maybe they could share a tutor?” 

Aramis smiled. “I’d be delighted. Although if Sylvie is teaching them, no one could do a finer job. Her pamphlets have been a godsend, I’ve heard. I must talk to her about setting her press up again in Paris.” He almost muttered the last part to himself as he jotted a note down before looking back up. “And Elodie - is she well?”

“She is.” He paused for a moment before smiling softly. “We may be expecting.”

Aramis dropped his pen, a look of wonder on his face as it split into a beam. “Porthos, that’s fantastic.” He quickly stood, moving round the desk to hug him, burying his face in his shoulder. “You deserve this. After everything…” His voice was muffled by Porthos’ doublet as he hugged him back. “At least we have some hope for the future in our little ones.” 

Porthos nodded against Aramis’ head, hugging him tighter. “It’s early days,” he reminded him but he couldn’t hide his own smile. “But we’re thrilled.”

“I couldn’t be happier for you.” Aramis told him, pulling back to smile widely at him. “I’ll have to come by soon and congratulate Elodie in person. I’m spending too much time at the palace nowadays, it feels like years since we’ve all just sat down and spent time together, without having to worry about something or other.” 

“You must come with me to Constance’s later.” Porthos agreed, leaning back in his chair as Aramis moved back round the desk. “The children are playing this afternoon and I’m going to meet them there when we’re done here.”

Aramis grimaced and gestured to the paperwork. “Urgent meeting.” 

Porthos pulled a face. “Not even for a little bit?”

Aramis looked from the paperwork then back to Porthos, a grin on his face. “...I can be a bit late, I suppose.”

“As if anyone would dare tell the First Minister he was late,” Porthos jokes. “Other than perhaps Her Majesty.” 

“Ah, but she has a soft spot for me,” Aramis replied happily. “She wouldn’t begrudge me seeing my family.” Straightening the papers, he smiled easily at Porthos. “Was that all you wanted to discuss or shall we move on to such subjects as ‘which duchess or other has made me a proposal that I must decline this week’?”

Porthos couldn’t help his snort of laughter. “Not quite everything, no.” He took a moment to compose himself before speaking again. “I’m here to request my leave of absence be lifted and to return to the front within the week.”

Aramis paused in fiddling with his pen, blinking at his friend. “Pardon?”

“I need to go back.” Aramis didn’t respond so he continued with a sigh. “I’m little use to them hundreds of miles away, my missives are always several days late. I don’t like leaving any more than you liking me leaving but the sooner I’m out there, the more casualties I can reduce and the sooner I can return home for good.” 

Aramis shook his head briefly and stared at him. “I don’t understand. What about Marie-Cesette? And Elodie and the new baby?”

“I told you I don’t like it.” Porthos said firmly, his brow furrowed. “But the long and short of it is that I don’t want to be bringing a child into the world where their country is at war when I can be personally doing something to make that war cease. And the sooner the better.” 

“You have deputies on the front line, don’t you?” Aramis frowned deeply. “You speak as if your guidance here hasn’t been valuable or as if the council hasn’t benefitted from hearing first hand what it’s like out there.”

“But I don’t know what it’s currently like out there, do I? I’ve been here for so long the landscape has most likely completely changed.” Porthos watched him carefully. “I can’t give accurate commands, I can’t make quick decisions because I’m not there.”

“That’s what your second-in-command is for. To make decisions when you’re not there.” Aramis ran his hand through his hair, obviously distressed. “Your input here has been invaluable and your family need you.” He looked at him. “I don’t understand.”

Porthos didn’t know what to say. How do you explain survivor's guilt to someone who wasn’t there? He knew he did not have to explain the concept to Aramis, after all he had been there for him after the massacre at Savoy. He had been the one to hold him when he woke up screaming in the middle of the night, drenched in his own sweat and every muscle in his body petrified in fear as tears ran down his face. He had been the one to coax him out of self-isolation, to calm him down when he had snapped at those who had called Marsac unforgivable things for deserting and to be a constant he could return to when it was all too much. 

But how could he explain all the ways he was hurting over this that Aramis could not possibly know? How, still, months later whenever he closed his eyes he saw Athos and D’Artagnan being struck down and how he had been helpless to stop it. How he lay awake until the early hours of the morning, holding tight onto Elodie as if, if he let her go, he might lose her too. Seeing Sylvie and Constance reminded him of delivering the news to them, being in the garrison reminded him too clearly of his brothers’ absence and that his men were out there while he remained in Paris as he mourned.

He had always assumed, perhaps foolishly he thinks now, that the four of them would die together. He had always thought that they would have their final moments of glory together in one last epic fight or that they would go peacefully in their sleep as old men, days apart and decades from now so that none of them would ever have to know the pain of losing the others. And now here they were, cut in two. 

“I have to go back.” Porthos shook his head, holding his gaze. “If I don’t…”

“It feels like abandoning them.” Aramis finished for him, his expression closed and guarded. 

“Yes,” Porthos admitted, his brow furrowed.

Aramis was quiet for a while, the only sounds the repetitive tapping of the end of his pen against the desk. He ran his hand through his hair and sat back in his chair before shaking his head. “No. I’m sorry but I won’t sanction your return, not yet. Not with the baby on the way, it wouldn’t be fair to Elodie.”

“Elodie and I have discussed it.” Porthos frowned deeply at him. “With your permission, I’ll be back a month or two before the baby is born and a few months after. My plan is to get this over and done with so I can be with them long-term without having to leave again, I told you.”

“To leave again in the first place puts you in unnecessary danger,” Aramis said shortly. “I won’t allow it when you’ve proven you can do your job just fine from here.”

“Your army needs a general who is present and on the field with them,” Porthos insisted. “Wars can’t be won via courier, I am the most effective when I am with my men.”

“We are in negotiations, the war could be over at any point, I don’t see--”

“It’s my boys who are out there, dying, and the least I can do is be there to try and ensure that doesn’t happen--”

“Your second-in-command is very proficient, they can make those quick decisions while you make larger tactical ones from--”

“I didn’t take this post so I could pass it off onto other people--”

“I can’t lose you.” Aramis snapped, looking Porthos in the eye. He didn’t miss the desperation in his voice. “Not now. Not after…” He trailed off, his gaze landing on a map that lay open on his desk. He seemed to steady himself. “I signed their death sentences, I won’t sign yours.”

Porthos deflated, rubbing his hand over his face. He spoke quietly. “You know you didn’t, right? You didn’t… You weren’t the one who killed them.”

“I put them in the firing line. Quite literally.” Aramis laughed humourlessly. “Who is responsible if not me?”

“The man who put a bullet in Athos’ head and a sword in D’Artagnan’s chest,” Porthos said firmly, “is dead in the ground because I made sure myself that he was. He wasn’t you.” 

“If I hadn’t sent the order to go, they would still be alive.” Aramis shook his head. “It doesn’t matter who dealt the blow. So I won’t do that to you, and you can’t make me. Just…” He looked at Porthos, a weak smile on his face. “Let me keep you alive for a bit longer.”

Porthos moved round the desk to hug him close, his eyes closing as he sighed deeply. He said nothing of the tears he could feel on his neck. “You know, as General, I’m rarely in the thick of it. I’d be safe.”

“We can’t guarantee that.” Aramis said quietly, not moving from Porthos’ arms, his own tightening around him.

Porthos was silent again for a while before speaking gently. “You can’t stop me from going back, Aramis.” 

“I’ll come with you, if you do.” Aramis’ voice shook but his tone was determined. 

“You can’t.” Porthos told him firmly. “You’re needed here.”

“Then how do we make this work because I refuse to wake up to a courier telling me that you’ve died in combat?” 

Porthos met his eyes and sat back against the desk, sighing as he shook his head. “I don’t know.” Aramis sat back, rubbing his eyes to wipe away the remnants of his tears and he couldn’t help but reach out and take his hand. “The being away is the worst part. I just feel useless here.”

“You’re not useless.” Aramis told him, running his thumb along Porthos’ knuckles as silence fell between them while they thought. 

Finally he spoke again, slowly and considering. “There is a vacancy.” He watched Porthos carefully to gauge his reaction. “Since… the position of Captain of the Musketeers hasn’t been filled. Nor has Minister of War. I’ve largely been taking on those responsibilities since Treville.” 

Porthos said nothing at first, his head buzzing with thoughts. “That’s… quite a promotion. It isn’t favouritism, is it, Minister?” He joked weakly.

“With the musketeer ranks being how they are, the title of Captain would be largely honourary until the numbers are built up again,” Aramis continued, “but as Minister of War you’d have a permanent position at court that would allow you to stay here with your family and you would still be having a direct impact on what’s happening at the front. Your second-in-command would receive a promotion to General. I-” he seemed to flag slightly, watching him. “This could be a good solution. If you want the job, it’s yours.”

“Aramis…” Porthos trailed off.

“Yes?” Aramis replied hopefully. 

He smiled faintly and sighed. “Only if this isn’t a ploy to get me to say I won’t leave.”

“You’d be doing me a favour, frankly.” Aramis insisted, smiling slightly in return. “Say you’ll take it?”

 

Several hours later, he and Aramis entered Constance’s house and Marie-Cesette ran straight for him. He lifted her up with a smile as she threw her arms around his neck.

“Papa back! Stay, yes?” She beamed at him.

Porthos smiled back widely, catching Elodie’s eye over her shoulder.

“Yes, sweetheart. I’m going to stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end now, guys! Thank you for sticking with me and this story. 
> 
> I'm aware the ending of this chapter was a bit rushed but it was fighting me so in the end I just had to leave it and go with it, I don't think it's awful but just so you know, yes, I'm aware. But as for the rest of it, Marie-Cesette is one of my favourite characters to write and I love her dearly. Aramis and Porthos get more interaction between just them this chapter, which was much needed. These boys need each other.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, thank you very much for reading, and Sylvie and Constance will be back next time! Thank you for your continuing support.


End file.
